


Salted Butter

by SarahLannister



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action & Romance, Alcohol, Attempt at Humor, Bitchslapping, Completed, Completed But Unfinished, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Love Triangles, Mild Smut, Romantic Comedy, Sibling Rivalry, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-08 00:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 65,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14683110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahLannister/pseuds/SarahLannister
Summary: A rogue, a templar and an ungodly amount of alcohol. What could possibly go wrong?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And lo, the posting of my old fanfictional works continues!
> 
> This is a compilation of all twelve existing chapters of this fiction I wrote back in May of 2010 and whilst it ends on a cliffhanger due to rather serious offline mental health issues at the time putting the kiebosh on the writing process, I'm sorry to say that there are no plans to ever complete or continue this story. Still, when it was originally posted to DevArt and LiveJournal, it got some quiet but favorable reviews and I'm still quite fond of my old Dragon Age Warden characters so for the sake of posterity, archiving and the ever prevading 'shits and giggles', I took the liberty of polishing off my old chapters, reformating and doing a wee bit of spellchecking.
> 
> As ever with my older works, everything is edited by myself and unbeta'd. All mistakes, I apologize for in advance.
> 
> Right, shutting up now.
> 
> Please enjoy and leave a like, a comment or kudos if you feel so inclined.
> 
> -Chubbs

##  **Chapter One**

The Dalish camp was sparsely populated, its' few inhabitants prefering to remain indoors as dark clouds loomed with the threat of rain. Unpeterbed by something as trival as a bit of drizzle, Alistair strolled barefoot through the tall grass, boots slung over his shoulders as he basked in the simple pleasures bestowed by nature.  
  
The dewdrops soothed the ache in his swollen, callosed feet, the blades gently caressing the battle-scarred flesh of his calves. It was a rare treat to be able to savor the feel of earth beneath his toes and as he wiggled the grubby digits, he was heartened by the sight of the lush greenary, contrasting starkly with the dead weeds of the Kocari wilds.  
  
Slowing his steps, the young non-templar sat down beneath the shade of an apple blossom tree, looking up with quiet wonderment as the wind wafted pale pink petals through the branches. He let out a sigh of contentment and leaned back against the thick bark as he stole a moment's rest.  
  
 _How can a place so lush survive among all this death?_  He thought to himself, a low yawn forcing its' way from his throat. Tugging off his gloves and bracers, he flexed his hands a few times, wincing as the bones crackled ominously.   
  
It would be a long time yet before he'd get a chance to relax like this and he planned to savor it.  
  
Reaching out before him, he gave one long stretch of his shoulders before shimmying down the trunk to lay flat out against the grass. The sun was still out but it was well hidden, the atomosphere heavy with the possibility of an oncoming storm. Considering his shelter was in the shade of a sizable tree, it wasn't exactly the safest place to be during a lightning show but considering all that he and a so-called band of merry miscrients had endured over the last number of weeks, he felt pretty confident about the odds.  
  
As he let his eyes flutter shut, Alistair breathed in the smell of salt on the air, rolling it along his palette as he savored the fresh, unpolluted scent. Folding his arms behind he head, he settled down for a sneaky cat nap, throwing caution to the wind as he dispelled all thoughts of irrate party leaders coming to pull him from his reverie.  
  
The rain came down lightly at first, a sparse sprinkling that tickled the blonde man's cheeks. After a few minutes, it began to intensify, thick rivules of water pelting down to make a low rattle upon the heavy plates of his steel armour. It felt pure and simple, invitingly warm against his skin.  
  
 _Wait..._  
  
A crinkle appeared in his brow but he did not open his eyes, bewilderment on his face at the sudden new sensation;   
  
 _Is rain supposed to be warm...?_  
  
Alistair blinked, eyes snapping open...  
  
  
...Only to be met with a sizeable pair of fur-covered testicles mere inches from his nose.  
  
" **Gyah**!" he yelled in alarm, scrambling back as a steady stream of urine trickled down the front of his breastplate, the foul-smelling liquid pooling in the crock of the bevelled collor.   
  
"Oh,  **gross!**  Get away from me, you horrible mutt!" Alistair shouted angrily, instinctively moving to shove the dog away from his face.  
He instantly regretted that action as the dog let out a deep, rumbling growl and rounded on him to bare a mouthful of fearsome, elongaged fangs, inches from his throat.   
  
Face draining of all color, Alistair scrambled back against the tree-trunk, cursing himself for leaving his broadsword back at camp.  
"B-Bad dog! Shoo! Shoo!" he croacked as his voice strained with fear, shaking a glove at it as he cowered against the tree, effectively trapped by the snarling beast. As the hound lowered on his haunches, the snarl growing louder, Alistair swallowed back the lump in his throat.  
  
 _So this is how it ends? Getting my throat ripped out and dying in a pool of blood and urine? Charming...!_  
  
He scrunched his eyes shut, bracing himself for the pain that was he sure to flood his senses but just as that hot, rancid breath drew closer and closer to his jugular, it suddenly withdrew.  
  
" **Dogmeat!**  Heel!"  
  
Alistair's eyes snapped open at the sound of the curt command.   
Trembling in the long grass, he drew his eyes upward as the tall blades quivered with movement. A young woman emerged from the thick overgrowth, the dog backed down, seating himself obediantly by Alistair's left shoulder whilst he waited for his master.  
  
"I thought I told you to guard the kitchen!" she scowled, her round face flushed with annoyance as she scolded her hound. "Bad dog! No treats for you!"  
  
Dogmeat gave a low, plaintive whine, his head bowing low with shame. Shaking her head, the woman took a step forward and caught him by the scruff, leading him away before she crouched down low. At this height, Alistair could see her clearly face-to-face. She appeared to be no older than sixteen at a guess but it was hard to tell for sure considering her short stature. Her hair was black as oil and fashioned into a fringed crop, several wispy strands falling haphazardly into a pair of deep, olive-colored eyes.  
  
As she smiled sheepishly at him, the corners of her mouth dimpled and Alistair felt his breath catch in his chest.  _Oh! Hello..!_  
  
"Sorry about that. I'm still getting the hang of training him. You're not hurt, are you?" her voice was light and girlish in spite of her obvious concern and as the blonde non-templar stared transfixed at her lips, he could detect a hint of a vaguely familiar accent.  
  
He opened his mouth to speak but the words seemed to peter out before they had a chance to full form on his tounge. Gulping, Alistair could only return the smile, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.  
  
She cast him an inquistive glance, her olive green eyes sparkling in the soft light. "Uhmm... do you speak Ferelden? No?  _Parle vouz Orlais? Hable Antivra?_ "  
  
Alistair gauped for a moment more, put out by the pressence of such a pretty young maiden. He stiffened, somehow managing to get to his feet only to grimace as the action send congealing trails of dog urine trickling down his front.   
  
 _Mmm. Mabari piss. What a fine choise of cologne!_  He thought in mortification, a hand reaching to cover his face as he emitted a low groan.  
  
The young woman jumped, her eyes widening as a hand shot up to brush against his cheek. "Ahh! A-Are you alright?! Please, say something!" she gasped, flustered by his apparent distress. Alistair's cheeks burned bright at her touch, a grimacing smile flashing across his face.  
  
"Other than the fact your dog just used me as a human toilet, I'm just dandy!"  
  
"Ah."the woman retracted her hand, using it to fidget awkwardly with a long string of wooden beads that nestled gently against the sizable curve of her busom; "Well, there've been a few hiccups with getting him house-broken. He's little more than a pup after all."   
  
"I'd well believe it." the blonde man said dryly, reaching for his pack in search of some tissues to wash himself off. The brunette chuckled awkwardly, scuffling her barefeet into the mud as she adverted her gaze.   
  
"I-I'm so sorry. If you come back to camp, I have a salve that'll stop the stench settling in.."  
  
Chuckling in spite of himself, Alistair daubed at his armour with a scrunched up hankerchief, his smile geniune.  
"Welll..." he said thoughtfully,drumming his fingers against the smooth steel plates; "If you  **really**  want to make it up to me, you'll tell me your name at least?"  
  
At this, her head shot up, shoulders shaking as though she'd just been struck by lightning. "Oh! Where are my manners!" She swiftly extended a hand to him, the other reaching to brush the hair from her eyes.   
  
"Butters."  
  
Alistair cocked an eyebrow.   
"Butters..?"  
  
"F-Family nickname..." the woman muttered, her cheeks tinted a most delectable shade of scarlet.  
  
The non-templar laughed heartily, not sure what to make of that. Still, he decided not to question her dubious monicker, his attention drawn to the steadily worsening rainfall that was pelting them through the thick branches of the apple blossom tree.   
  
"You shouldn't be out in this weather! You'll catch cold!"  
  
"It'll take more than a little smidgen of rain to stop me from enjoying nature's bounty!" she said chirpily, cracking a grin as he took her hand in his own, a cordial handshake.  
  
"That may be, dear lady but I must inform you... you're..uh..wearing a white frock. More to the point, a wet, swiftly-turning-see-through white frock."  
  
Butters gasped, breaking from the greeting to fold both hands beneath her armpits, the color draining from her face. "Ahh. Water. White dress. Nudity. Bad!"  
  
"I'm not complaining!" Alistair immidately slapped himself for daring to utter that thought aloud.  _Smooth, Alistair. Very smooth..!_    
  
Making a habit of clearing her throat, the brunette woman hunched her shoulders against the cold that swiftly cut through her like a knife. Gulping back in her throat, Butters clicked her tongue towards her hound, who had been watching the exchanges with an almost dubious expression upon his wrinkled face. At the sound of his master's call, Dogmeat stood up swiftly, offering a growl of warning at the newcomer in their midst.  
  
"Le-let's head back. I'd offer you some tea to warm you up but after that little golden shower Dogmeat gave you there, I think it's safe to say I owe you a beverage of a more alcoholic nature."  
  
Alistair couldn't help but giggle out of embarrasment, unable to meet her gaze. It certainly wasn't everyday a woman made him an offer like that. Then again, it wasn't everyday a dog mistook him for a lamppost...  
  
"Sounds good to me, Miss...  **Butters**..." he rolled her name along his tongue, unable to keep from grinning over the sheer absurdity of it. Shaking his head in amusement, he pulled on his boots, gloves and bracers and slung his pack over his shoulder.   
  
"Lead the way!"  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
Giving that the Dalish camp didn't have a tavern in the conventional sense, the young brunette had taken Alistair to a modestly sized canvas gazebo just beyond Varathorn's stall that served as both a dining area for the clan and a make-shift field kitchen. Seating himself at one of the rickety tables, Alistair shook the rain from his hair, sighing in exasperation as the sodden locks of his cowlick drooped in his face.  
  
"Tsk. And I used half a tub of beeswax...!"  
  
With a soft clink, Butters set two glass tumblers and a sizable bottle of wine down on the table between them, a bemused chuckle escaping her as she watched her companion attempt to salvage his ruined hairdo.   
"You still haven't told me your name, y'know. I don't make a habit of drinking with strangers."  
  
Wringing out the damp, Alistair flipped his hair wildly before giving up and scraping it back against his scalp."Ahh, sorry 'bout that. I'm Alistair." he cast her a lopsided smile , brows knitted slightly as he propped himself on one elbow. "I'm sorry if I'm being forward in asking this but..uh.. you're not an elf?"  
  
Butters chortled lightly, reaching to pour the wine out for both of them.   
"Is it really that obvious?"  
  
"Uhh.. well, it's just that you're the first human I've seen since I got here. Seemed a little odd to me, considering how these Dalish keep a tight ship.."  
  
"I should ask the same of you, Alistair. How is it you manage to infiltrate the camp long enough to fall asleep in the shade and awake to the glorious sound of a rain-oh, wait. That wasn't rain-!" she teased from behind her glass, watching him with mischief in her eyes.   
  
The blonde man pursed his lips at her, raising his glass to his lips.   
"If you must know, I'm here on offical business. Warden duties and all." He took a timid sip, swirling the liquid around his mouth. It was crisp and wet, flavored with a rich combination of chocolate and black cherries. Making a noise of approval, he took a hearty gulp, letting it warm his throat as it slipped down smoothly.  
  
"Oh-ho? So you are the Grey Warden all the girls are fawning over?"  
  
He sputtered slightly at this, a hot blush flashing across his face.   
"Ahh.. heh. Well, I  **am**  kind of a big deal. For all the wrong reasons, I assure you. Whatever you've heard-"  
  
"-That you are directly responsible for the fall of our dear King Cailen and the deaths of thousands of honorable soliders at Ostagar?" Butters said casually, taking a small sip from her drink; "I don't believe in petty gossip."  
  
"You... you dont?" Alistair blinked, taken aback by her admission.  
  
It was strange, that. Rarely in the forthnight that had passed since that eventful day in Ostagar had he known anyone to doubt the slanderous rumours flying about concerning the harrowing betrayal that took place during that turbulent battle. Her outlook was... refreshing, to say the least. Staring into his tumbler, Alistair's expression was calm but wistful.  
  
"You've no idea how happy I am to finally meet someone who doesn't want to poke me with sharp, pointy objects." he exhaled deeply, a sigh of relief as a little of the heavy burden on his shoulders eased up.  
  
"I believe in hearing all sides of a story before I go jumping to conclusions."   
Butters drained her glass of liquid, setting it down before her and moving to run her tongue over her lip, catching any lingering drops of alcohol.   
Alistair stiffened slightly, the movement sending a curious shiver of excitement shooting up his spine.   
  
Coughing slightly, he took another gulp of wine to steady himself before clearing his throat and casting her a look that he hoped convayed curiousity rather than leering.  
"So...  **Butters**." He still couldn't get his head around the name; "What's your story? You're clearly not a member of the clan and unless I'm very much mistaken, you don't strike me as a traveller in need of shelter..."   
  
He watched as she shifted in her chair, her smile fading slightly as she contemplated his query. Taking the bottle up in her stubby fingers, she topped up both their glasses and spent an age swirling the dark red fluid around her tumbler, her brow set in a frown.  
  
"You are indeed mistaken, Alistair.." she finally said, her words heavy with unseen regret. "I  **am**  in fact a traveller. I've spent the last few weeks moving from place to place, trying to find somewhere peaceful to rest my weary head."  
  
"Something troubling you?" Alistair offered softly, stretching his arm across the table to rest his hand atop hers. She flushed at this kind gesture but did not pull away from him.Instead, she rested her free hand atop his and smiled, though it it did not extend to her eyes.  
  
"Many things, Alistair. Many. But still, I don't wish to cast a gloom over what is sure to be a grey and dreary enough day as it is. All I will say is that I am a woman on a mission."  
  
"And what might that be?"  
  
She tensed slightly beneath his touch, her lips curling into a look of anguished contempt. "I am heading to Denerim." she said pointedly, her eyes narrowing as an unpleasent memory stabbed at her temples; "...and when I reach my destination, I am going to kill H-"  
  
  
"Alistair!There you are!"   
  
Before Butters had a chance to finish her sentence, she was abruptly interupted by a heavily accented voice ringing through the flaps of the gazebo. Glancing up in surprise, the blonde not-templar met the gaze of Leliana, her face pursed in a look of exasperation as she stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips.  
  
"Oh, hello, Lee!" Alistair said brightly, patting the chair next to him; "Care to join us for a drink? This merlot is particulary fragrant-!"  
  
"So this is were you've been all morning? Getting friendly with the locals, hmm?" the bard replied, the annoyance in her face dropping into an eager grin when she spotted the half-full bottle of wine on the table. Butters glanced at her for a moment, then to Alistair, one dark brow arched.  
  
"Your girlfriend?" she asked quietly. Alistair was surprised to detect a note of disappointment in her voice. He coughed awkwardly, running his fingers through his sodden hair and shook his head in amusement.  
  
"N-no, no. Just a good friend of mine." As the russet-haired bard took a seat to his left, Alistair motioned towards the stocky brunette with a warm smile.   
"Leliana, I'd like you to meet  **Butters**... uh... sorry, I didn't catch your last name?"  
  
The young woman chuckled softly, extending a hand to the bard. "I never mentioned it, Alistair."  
  
"Oh, what a delightful monicker you have!" Lelilana gasped in delight, her blue eyes sparkling as she looked upon the woman in her midst with wonderment.   
  
Butters shrugged her shoulders casually, swigging lightly from her glass.  
"Trust me, you wouldn't be saying that if you had to put up with corny jokes for twenty two years of your life... So, Lelianna. You're Orlesian, I take it?"  
  
"Yes! How on earth did you know?"  
  
"I could tell by your accent. Such a pleasant sound to hear. It reminds me so much of that wonderous country." Butters smiled fondly, moving to procure a glass for her newest guest. Filling it generously, she watched as Lelianna lapped at it greedily, a purr of satisfaction escaping her lips between gulps.  
  
"I take it you've spent time there on your travels?" Alistair enquired, recalling how he'd mistaken him for all manner of nationalities back in that dewy clearing.  
  
"Ahh, no. I just had a very attractive linguistics teacher once..."Butters simpered, blushing into her glass as she tried not to giggle. The wine was already starting to go to her head, cloaking it with a pleasant haze that took the sting out of her more painful memories. Hiccuping slightly, she stood up from her seat and headed towards a large chest in the farthest corner of the makeshift hall, intent on re-stocking the dwindling bottle of wine.  
  
Turning to Alistair, she cocked her head to one side, a sly grin dimpling the corner of her lips as she waved the bottle before him. "Prehaps I might tempt you to stay some more? It's been so long since I entertained company other than finicky elves."  
  
"Most kind of you, dear!" Leliana replied before him, rising to her feet and swaying slightly as the alcohol kicked in. "But we really should be off. It's a long trek to Denerim and Captain Snarky-Pants would rather us all die of exhaustion than let us stay another night."  
  
Alistair sighed deeply, groaning at the thought of his fellow Warden, the only other to survive the siege of Ostagar. The man was a fearsome leader, no doubt about it, but by the Maker did he work his troops to the brink of death! The only one he seemed to go easy on would be Morrigan, if not for the fact that she regularly called him on his actions then for the fact that they regularly indulged in-  
  
A wave of nausea suddenly over came Alistair as the image flashed into his head. That was the last time he'd ever dare ask Morrigan for a health poultice whilst in camp.  _The horror...!_  
  
"You're heading to Denerim?" Butters queried, eyes wide with surprise, her voice snapping Alistair from a series of very disturbing mental images.   
  
He nodded quickly, casting her a contemplating look.   
"Uh, yes. Didn't you mention something about heading there yourself just before Lee joined us? You're..uh.. very welcome to join us if you like." he said bashfully.   
  
"Oh, I wouldn't wish to impose-"  
  
"Nonsense!" Leliana cooed, clapping her hands together in delight; "The more, the merrier! Though I must ask out of necessity: do you have any fighting skills that may be of use?"  
  
"Yes, seeing as trouble tends to find us in droves..." Alistair murmured, sipping on the last dregs of his wine glass. Butters nodded once, whipping a small dagger out of the elongated sleeve of her dress only to have it snag and dangle patheticly from the hem. She gave an embarassed chuckle and returned it once more to its' hidden pocket, blushing.  
  
"I've killed a Hulock or two in my time- mostly out of sheer luck to be honest, though my true skills lie with sneaking into people's bedchambers and robbing them blind to fund my own mischeivious shenanigans."  
  
"Oh, you're a rogue?"Leliana said eagerly, bouncing on the balls of her feet; "We could always use someone who knows their way around a set of lockpicks! Anything that might be of use?"  
  
"Apart from my atrocious kareoke skills?"  
  
"Can you cook?"Alistair pipped up.  
  
Butters chuckled and nodded entuasticly.  
"Sure, if by cook you mean filling the food rations with endless supplies of cheesecake-"  
  
" **Welcome aboard!"**

 

**\-----**

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What ho, an update?!
> 
> Yes'm! Been away from my laptop for a while due to LIFE THINGS and thus haven't been able to update "What Happens In Vegas" so when I finally got home, felt the need to upload SOMETHING and thought I'd throw up the next chapter of this ficlet.
> 
> Enjoy and apologies for any errors or whatever. I try my best to catch any typos but they can be sneaky wee buggers!
> 
> All the chapters of this fiction have been pulled from my various archived accounts (DevArt, LiveJournal) and thus may be a bit differently formatted to my usual stuff. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

**C** **HAPTER TWO**

  
Eyes narrowing darkly, the embattled Warden let out a loud snort of derision as he shot a venomous glare at the young non-templar stumbling up the dirt path. "Oh good. You're still alive..." he sneered, lip curling with distaste.  
  
"No need to sound so disappointed, Malcolm..." Alistair retorted dryly, his words punctuated by a slight hiccup as he moved to wipe a stray drop of wine from his lips. The elder warden chuckled mirthlessly, arms folding over his cloaked chest.  
"This would be the part were I enquire as to where you've been all this time but frankly, I couldn't give two tugs of a dead dog's cock."  
  
"That's a charming mental image...!"  
  
"Such a pity you still linger..." At Malcolm's side, Morrigan gave a haughty sniff, draping an arm lightly over one of his shoulders as she joined in with her partner's barbed insults. "I myself was rather hoping you'd gone back to your day job as the idiot of some far off village!"  
  
Alistair groaned, rolling his eyes in exasperation at the ' _gruesome twosome_ ' he had to put up with over the last number of weeks. It was bad enough having Malcolm fling mud at him at every given opportunity but when the tattooed, lamp-jawed brute become smitten with the scantly clad witch and her barely-contained endowments, life on the road had become all but unbearable for the stricken young blonde.  
  
"I hate you both. You're bad people." he sighed, hitching his backpack a little higher on his shoulder. There was no use in trying to fight against their taunts any more. A formidable partnership both on and off the battlefield, there was to be no victory for Alistair against their wicked tongues.  
  
_Two peas in a thoroughly rotten pod.._. He thought darkly, a scowl settling upon his forehead.  
  
"The rain seems to have eased up. If it holds out, we should be able to set up camp just south of Dragon's Peak before nightfall. That is, if we leave  **immediately.** " Malcolm said tersely, jabbing at his map of Thedas with one rough, stubby finger.  
  
"Can we at least wait 'til Leliana gets here? She was just off setting up a friend with supplies."  
  
"Oh?" the elder Warden arched one inky black eyebrow at Alistair, lips pursed. "And I suppose this...  **friend**  of hers will be joining us on our quest to seek out Brother Genitivi, hmm?" he said dryly, eyes narrowed dangerously.   
  
  
"You suppose correctly, dear leader!"   
  
Leliana's chirpy voice rang loud as a bell as she sidled up to him, a wide grin brighteningher features; "We just spent the morning enjoying a most  **delightful**  merlot in the company of a fine young rogue. Seeing as she too is heading in our direction, I thought it would most exciting if she could join us!"  
  
"Did you, now? And who decided to leave  **you**  in charge of recruitment?" Malcolm sniffed, turning his nose down at the perky Orlesian bard. She grinned deviously then, playfully nudging Alistair in the ribs with her elbow, causing him to emit a tiny squeal.  
  
"Actually, 'twas Alistair who encouraged her to join our candid convoy. He was most insistant, if I do say so myself!"  
  
"Ooh, has the little Chantry boy found himself a playmate?" Morrigan teased, teeth bared in a horrid smile that wouldn't look out of place on a lioness stalking a defenceless lamb. The young non-templar made a slight choking noise in his throat, cheeks burning bright as his hands flew up wildly to defend himself.  
  
"N-no! Nothing of the sort! I was just thinking that-ah! Wu-we need all the help can get and s-since she kindly offered her services-"  
  
"Ooh, what kind of..  **services**? Do they involve whips? Chains? Ropes? I bet you're into kink, you saucy little templar, you!" Malcolm ribbed, relishing the look of abject humiliation on the poor blonde's face as he shrunk into his armour, mortified.  
  
"Actually, I tend to favour blindfolds and ball-gags if I may be so bold."A rich voice drawled, startling them all.   
  
Looking up, the party cast their collective gaze to the newcomer as she joined them near the edge of the Dalish encampment.   
  
Alistair's eyes widened.   
Butters had swapped the flimsy white frock he had admired so much for a set of Chasind robes that had to be a least a full size too tight. Cheeks burning as he tried hard not to gaup, the young warden felt his breath catch in his throat as he took in her form.  
Whereas the simple linen dress has swamped her short frame, the lightly tanned rags clung to every curve of her body, show-casing a formerly hidden voluptuousness that seemed to be most prominent across her chest. It was immensely difficult to keep his eyes from drinking in the sight of  **that**  plunging neckline, the tantalising glimpse of milky white flesh causing his knees to shake.   
  
His breath rasping in his lungs, Alistair took in the plump roundness of her hips, peeking out invitingly from the scandalously high cut of the skirt, twin daggers in their wooden scabbards nestled neatly against the taunt flesh.  
  
Beautiful and deadly.  
  
**"By the holy tits of the Maker!"**  
  
Malcolm's aghast cry snapped Alistair from his less than pious thoughts with a jolt, causing him to stumble back in alarm. Watching as the normally surly and cantankerous warden rushed forward and ensnared Butters in a crushing bear-hug, Alistair silently wondered if she had slipped him something in the wine...  
  
"Gyah! Bones! Crushing! Can't  **breaaatheee...!** "   
The raven haired rogue gasped, flailing wildly against Malcolm's thick arms. The elder warden let a strangled sob escape his throat, grip slackening ever so slightly as he nuzzled his face into the woman's hair.  
  
"I'm so happy to see you-!"  
  
_What...?_  Alistair thought, a knot forming in his stomach at the scene.  _Oh...must be one of Malcolm's many ex-girlfriends or something. Hmmph. Figures._ _ **Everywhere**_ _we go...!_  
  
"M-Malcom?! Saints be praised, I thought you were  **dead!** " the rogue cried, her fingers firmly cupping the warden's face, her eyes wide and shining with joyful tears.  
  
"Likewise! Oh, it's so good to see you're safe! The uncertainty, not knowing if you'd escaped the castle or burned within-it was hell...!" Malcolm gasped, pressing his cheek against hers and closing his eyes, his hands holding her lightly now as they rubbed up and down her back.  
  
"Malcolm.."   
  
There was no hiding the jealousy in Morrigan's voice as she glared a thousand daggers at the newcomer; "...You have exactly three seconds to explain yourself before I burn off that which you hold most dear!"  
  
Eyes snapping open at the sound of his lover's seething disgust, Malcolm jumped back as though she had indeed just burned him, his face flushed slightly as he reset his jaw in a hard line. Glancing side-long at the contemptuous witch, he made a great show of clearing his throat.  
"Excuse me for expressing joy at seeing my  **baby sister**  alive and well after believing her dead for the last two bloody months..!"  
  
The witch arched an eyebrow, sneering at the portly young woman in her midst.   
"A likely story..!"  
  
"It's true!" Butters said breathlessly; "I am the only daughter of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland of Highever. I... I long thought myself the only one left to carry on that name. Until now, I thought no-one else had survived the massacre!"  
  
"What  **have**  you been up to all this time, sis?" Malcolm queried, taking in her scant figure. Pursing his lips, he folded his arms over his chest in distaste; "And more to the point, why are you dressed like an Antivan hooker?"  
  
Leliana gave a loud, indignant huff. "Hey, I happen to think she looks most fetching! The shades of tan and green do compliment her eyes,  _non_?"  
  
"I'd appreciate it very much if you didn't dress my baby sister up like a street walker, Leliana. I don't care how cute you think she looks, she's not coming to Denerim with us dressed like  **that!** "  
  
"Typical..." Butters sighed, rolling her eyes to the heavens; "We've barely been reunited all of five seconds and you're  **already**  trying to spoil my fun. Do bugger off with yourself, Malcolm! I'm twenty two years old! I'm not a child any more so stop treating me like one!"  
  
"I don't give a shit. I refuse to let you prance around with your tits out for all and bloody sundry to gawk at!"  
  
"And yet you don't complain when Morrigan is the one flaunting her Maker-given gifts!" Leliana replied coolly, earning a sarcastic smirk from the malicifor.  
  
"That's because Morrigan's tits are glorious." Malcolm replied flatly, untying the heavy werewolf pelt that swatted his broad shoulders before he threw it roughly at his sibling, smacking her in the face with the animal's snout.   
" **You** , on the other hand, should damn well know better! Be glad Mother isn't here to see you dress so wantonly! She'd have a coniption!"  
  
"Jerk.." Butters muttered darkly, begrudgingly draping the cloak over her shoulders.   
  
As she reluctantly fiddled with the ties, she stole at glance at Alistair, who had been quietly observing the exchange with a mixed expression of bewilderment, surprise and possibly even fear. Over what, she could harold a guess, her eyes following his as she noted how his gaze was drawn to her chest. An airy chuckle escaped her at that.  
  
Chasind robes always did have a curious effect on the male populace. Folding her arms, she deliberately pushed her cleavage up, teasing him silently as her mouth dimpled with a smile of mock coyness.  
"Why, Alistair! That's the kind of look that could get a gal pregnant!"  
  
Startled by the sound of her voice, the non-templar let out a tiny squeak, quickly averting his gaze as his face flushed from being caught out leering. Gulping, he could only let out a weak chuckle.   
"Ahh.. I um... kind of agree with Malcolm. Those robes are...  _very_ eye-catching."  
  
Butters smile widened.  
"Well, it's no wet frock, I'll give you that, but it offers more manoeuvrability when it comes to engaging in combat. Granted, I'm not much of a fighter but these robes offer a great deal of distraction. Nothing like a bit of cleavage to make even the most hardened fighters forget their training..."   
  
"Hmm?" Alistair blinked, eyes darting upward for a moment. "Sorry, did you say something?"  
  
"I rest my case." Malcolm said dryly, sneaking up and grabbing Alistair by the ear, twisting the lobe none-too-gently as he dragged him towards the gates leading out to the dirt path that connected with the Imperial Highway before dumping him unceremoniously by a fallen tree.   
He then strode back to the edge of camp and roughly tugged his cloak closed over Butter's scantly-clad figure, glaring at her ruefully.  
  
"Let us be off. The sooner we get to Denerim, the sooner I can buy you something a bit more modest."  
  
"I swear, you'd bungle me off to the Chantry if you thought you could get away with it!" Butters said irritably, matching his glare. She was already beginning to miss her old life of being an only child. Her brother emitted a snort of a chuckle, his hands moving to rest lightly on her shoulders for a moment.   
  
"Heh. Don't tempt me, Butters."  
  
Turning towards the small crowd of followers he had amassed during the course of his travels, the oldest of the two remaining wardens nodded curtly, leading the way towards the dusty forest trail.  
  
"If we're done with the schmaltzy, fuzzy family get-together crap, let's get the hell out of here. Dragon's Peak shouldn't be more than a few hour's trek. If the weather holds out, we should make there by nightfa-" he stated, only to be cut short by a deep pout from Leliana.  
  
"But, dear Warden! We've only just gotten our wits about us after clearing the forest! Please! Let us stay another night and rest! We wouldn't be any good against the darkspawn on the roads if we're all half-dead from exhaustion."  
  
From his place next to the fallen tree, Alistair chimed in timidly; "I agree! We could all use a break for once. Also, judging by the looks of those clouds, I reckon we're going to be stuck here for a while."  
  
Sighing with agitation, Malcolm pinched the bridge of his long, pointed nose and exhaled sharply. "Oh, fine. One more night then, if it'll get you all off my back."  
  
"Splendid!" Leliana let out a happy squeal, twirling on her heals to beam at Butters. "So! Do you still have any more of that  **scrumptious wine?** " she asked, eyes sparkling with hope. The raven haired rogue chuckled and gave a small nod, motioning her to follow her back to the gazebo.  
  
"Of course! The Dalish don't particularly care for the spoils of Antiva in all honesty, so I'm left with quite a surplus."  
  
Malcolm's head jerked at this, eyes wide with surprise. "You visited Antiva?"  
Butters nodded, touching her hair lightly. "Aye, that I did, dear brother. I spent much of my time haunting the old bordellos-"  
  
"Huh. That explains the lack of dignity..."  
  


* * *

  
  
The rain battered against the thick canopy, flapping angrily as the wind ripped through the camp with the eye of the storm. Thunder crashed overhead, the darkness of the night occasionally blasted away momentarily by blinding flashes of lightning. Yet as miserable as the weather appeared outside, the atmosphere inside the makeshift hall was anything but.  
  
The wine flowed as free as water and as the small group of Dalish elves bestowed their appreciation upon the motley crew for their part in the swift eradication of the werewolves blighting the forest, the air was peppered with all manner of delicious scents as a feast was hastily put together in their honour.   
  
Already fairly tipsy from the wine she'd consumed that morning, Leliana was positively bladdered by the time nightfall rolled in and she had taken it upon herself to entertain the clan by recounting all manner of dirty ditties, dancing barefoot on one of the long tables with her robes hitched past her knees as her voice rung out through the crowd.  
  
_#Sit_ _on my face! And tell me that ch'love me! /I'll sit on your face and tell you I love you tooo! /I'd like to hear you oralize/ When I'm between your thighs, you blow me awaaaay!#_  she sang drunkenly as she danced a merry jig, causing much laughter and merriment from the eager crowd.  
  
"Ye gods, how much has she had to drink?!" Morrigan said incredulously, the corners of her lips turning up with a mixture of conflicting disgust and humour.   
Chuckling huskily into her ear, Malcolm wound a burly arm around her waist, pulling her into his lap and letting his fingers rest upon the curve of her hip.  
  
"Juuust the right amount..! "he slurred, taking her earlobe between his teeth and giving it a hard tug, eliciting a low gasp."She's starting to give me all sorts of ideas!"  
Morrigan let a deep, wry chuckle escape her. "You will be the death of me, you wretched little man."  
  
"Nothin'  **little**  'bout me, Mo." he purred, his lips moving to her neck, trailing a series of rough nibbles along the pale flesh. "As you're always so want to remind me!"  
  
Across the table, Butters sat with a tumbler of Dalish cognac frozen half-way to her lips, her eyes wide and face pale but for a notable green tinge, her mouth contorted into a deep grimace. "For the love of all that is pure and holy in this world would you two  **please**  get a room...?!" she squeaked, aghast at the blatant display before her.  
  
"No use trying to sway them.." Alistair said with a resigned sigh, taking a swig of mead from a large flagon; "Best to just ignore them. Believe me when I say that if they sense you're getting uncomfortable, they stop just short of going at it out in the open. It's... disturbing, to say the least."  
  
"Oh, shush, sis! We're doin' no harm-"Malcolm belched loudly; "'Sides, you should sitt'n watch! Y'might learn a trick or two."  
  
"I may vomit..!"  
  
Rising from his seat, Alistair offered the repulsed young rogue his hand, a troubled smile crossing his features. "C'mon. Leave them to their horrific mating habits.  **You**  owe me a dance!"  
  
"Tsk! I already gave you three bottles of wine and a whole keg of mead! Dogmeat's debt is well and truely paid!" Butters said with mock offence, attempting to smile despite the nausea rising in her throat that came from seeing her brother stop short of fornicating with the witch right there on the tabletop.  
  
"True.." Alistair said playfully, his dark eyes glinting with mischief; "...But you didn't take into account the heavy burden of emotional distress that dog caused me, not to mention the dent in my ego! C'mon! I promise I won't step on your toes!"  
  
Getting up swiftly, Butters took his outstretched hand just a little too eagerly, letting him lead her across the hall to a lightly populated space cleared of tables that served as a dance floor..  
  
"Anything to get me away from these shameless nymphs! By the Maker, Malcolm has some bloody cheek giving me a ticking off over my robes before he goes and throws down with that beastly woman right in front of us all!"  
  
Chuckling, Alistair swept her lightly across the floor, his hand clutching hers with a light grip. "I'm sure he's only trying to protect your..." he rolled the word along his lips in a daring tone; "... **assets**  from any unsavory influences!"  
  
"I can cover my own assets, thank you very much!" Butters quipped, placing her free hand upon his shoulder as they shuffled unsteadily across the hall. The blonde non-templar smirked wickedly, confidence fueled by the sizable amount of alcohol working its' way through his system as he rested a hand on her waist and pulled her close, his breath hot against her ear.  
  
"Shame. I was rather enjoying the view!"  
  
"Steady on, boy! We've only just met!" Butters gasped in mock-offense, yet she arched herself into his chest, looking up at him with a flushed expression.  _Well, he's certainly a damn sight better than most of the blokes here.._  she thought drunkenly, her feet acting on their own accord as they pulled her to her toes, eager to taste the inviting curve of his lips.  
  
A low, husky chuckle tickled through Alistair's nostrils and as he angled his jaw just so, he peered at her with a michevious expression.   
"Indeed... I seem recall you were wearing a most delightful frock..." he murmured, bending slightly as he leaned towards her waiting mouth-  
  
  
**CRASH!**  
  
  
The sound caused them both to jump back in fright, eyes wide as the loud thump was swiftly followed by a string of angry Orlesian curses. Glancing towards the rows of long banquet tables that took up most of the space in the gazebo, Alistair and Butters looked on in a mixture of concern and amusement as Leliana got gingerly to her feet, her robe soaked through with mead and wine, bare arms scratched to bits by shards of broken glass.  
  
"What fine elvish craftsmanship..." she muttered darkly, glaring daggers at the chair that had collasped beneath her.  
  
"Alright, Lee?" Alistair called from across the hall, unable to keep the laughter from his voice.   
  
The red-haired bard shot him a withering look, waving a dismissive hand.   
"Peachy!-hic!- Just bloody peachy..!"  
  
Shaking her head with a bemused sigh, Butters pulled away from the blonde man's arms before casting him an apologetic look and crossing the floor to help the humilated young bard. As Alistair watched the raven haired rogue tend to Leliana's wounds, he couldn't help but feel a slight wave of disappointment at being denied the chance to taste her.  
  
Blinking against the fuzziness that had clouded his brain, he rubbed a hand against his forehead and chuckly wryly to himself.  _"Careful now... you saw what Malcolm did to Witherfang..."_  he scolded himself, smile dropping into grimace as he recalled how the hulking mass of muscle had single-handedly eviscarated the snarling beast with several well-honed swipes of his broadsword.  
A feeling of nausea tainted the corners of his mouth at the grisly mental image, threatening to rise forth from his stomach. He blanched slightly, scrunching his eyes shut.   
  
It wasn't just a feeling.   
  
Clutching a hand to his mouth, Alistair wasted no time in racing through the throng of partygoers, dashing out into the pouring rain as all the food he'd ever eaten in a six month period began to come back and haunt him. Stomach heaving violently, he threw up in a crop of brushes near the Halla pens, knees shaking uncontrolably as he slumped to them, the nausea unlike anything he'd felt before.  
  
"Sweet, merciful Androste...!" he gasped as the last of the foul liquid left his throat. Wiping the excess sick from his lips with the back of his hand, Alistair got shakily to his feet only to be met with a pair of wide, unfocused olive-coloured eyes.  
  
"You alright?" Butters offered worriedly, placing a hand against his chest. Swallowing back that disgusting acidic taste in his mouth, Alistair could only emit a low mumble as his stomach fluttered uncomfortably. It wasn't from the swift evacuation of his gut, though. In the torrential rainfall, Butter's stocky frame was throughly soaked to the bone, her short black hair plastered to her skull as rivules of water trickled down her face.  
  
She was practically convulsing with cold, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe in the bitingly crisp air. Alistair bit his lip, silencing a helpless groan. She was ravishing, her pale skin shining, the normally heavy suade of her robes doing nothing to conceal her ample bosom as it clung to her, saturated by rain.  
  
"Never better..." he muttered, unable to tear his eyes away from those two delectable mounds of flesh. As she stepped towards him, stumbling with inebriation, his hands found her hips and gripped her tightly, a rasping breath rattling his ribcage as he pulled her to her, inhibitions thrown to the wind as he drunkenly nuzzled her neck.  
  
Butters groaned softly, arching into his touch as his licked and sucked  with wreakless abandon. Sliding her hands to his wrists, she somehow mustered the strenght to pry them away from her hips, pulled back as he cast her a confused look.  
"We-we can't..." she said breathless, releasing him long enough to brush soaking strands of ebony out of her face; "Malcolm would kill us  **both..!** "  
  
Alistair sighed deeply, resting his forehead against hers as a resigned smile pinched at his lips. Trust that crew-cutted, lamp-jawed, Ogre-slaying, village-plundering, virgin-defiling oaf to ruin his fun at every concievable opportunity.  
  
"Raincheck?" he mumbled dejectedly, the faintest hint of a hangover stabbing at his brain.  
  
  
"Raincheck."  


* * *

  
  
In the cold light of dawn, the encampment was eerily still. Nothing stirred in the woods beyond the tents (and rightfully so, considering all the effort they'd put into killing off all the werewolves) and even the birds seemed uncharacteristicly silent. A chilling fog had descended upon the little shanty town, penetrating the gaps between the tent poles and making Alistair wince in his sleep.   
Flinching from the icy breeze that slapped his face, he tugged at the heavy animal skins that made up the bulk of his bedroll, shivering.   
  
As he tried to yank back the covers, however, he found a slight resistance. Cracking an eye open, trying desperately to ignore the pounding sensation in his head, Alistair blinked against the murky grey light flooding into the gaps of the thin canopy.  
  
"What the-?" He mumbled, giving the skins a forcable tug. A low moan came from somewhere to his right, startling him. Eyes snapping open completely, he let out a high-pitched yelp of alarm as he saw the form lying beside him.  
  
Only her head peeked out from the mass of furry pelts, her hair askew and spiked in places from where she'd tossed about in her sleep. Curled into a foetal position, the raven-haired rogue snored softly, occasionally mumbling something incoherent in her sleep.  
  
Alistair's heart lept into his throat as he swiftly sobered up, scooting as far away from the sleeping woman as the small tent would allow. Mouth agape, he could barely find the courage to speak as shock settled in.  
  
  
_Oh, gods! I didn't...!_  


 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling generous so here, have two chapters in one night!
> 
> I have all twelve chapters in a Masterpost of a Word Doc so once I get to editing, updates will be fairly frequent unless otherwise stated. Cheerio!
> 
> -Chubbs

**CHAPTER THREE**  
  
Alistair stared unblinking at the young rogue, fairly certain that his heart had just stopped out of shock.  _I'm dreaming. Yes. Dreaming. This is all just some silly fantasy concocted by my perverse, alcohol-addled brain.._  he thought feverishly, shaking his head and hoping she'd be gone when he opened his eyes once more.  
  
Nope.   
  
Still there, sleeping soundly.  
  
Whimpering as panic settled in, the blonde man chewed on his lip as he raised a shaking hand , placing it cautiously on her covered shoulder. With surprising difficulty, he managed to find the strenght to give her a gentle shake. Butters wined in her sleep but did not awaken.  
  
Exhaling unsteadily through his nose, Alistair shook her a good deal harder, all his nervous energy surging into the rough movement. The young rogue gave a louder, more irrate whine before she finally rose. As she sat upright rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Alistair exhaled a deep sigh of relief.  
  
Apart from the absence of the fringed, feathered pads that had once covered her shoulders, she was still fully clothed in her Chasind robes. Running a hand through his hair as his heart finally started beating again, the blonde man flapped his lips as he flopped back against his pillow. Turning slightly, he dared to steal a glance at her and found himself faced with an expression of extreme annoyance.  
  
"Heeyy.. what gives?" Butters groaned, her brows furrowed into a deep frown, squinting from what Alistair was sure to a poundng migraine. He coughed roughly, tasting stale beer and the faintest trace of barf on his breath.  
  
"What..." his voice was raspy with cotton-mouth, making him grimace; "...What are you  **doing**  here, Butters?! You just about gave me a damn heart-attack!"  
  
"My tent blew away during the storm. Where else was I supposed to sleep?" she said irritably, settling down once more on the swaths of animal skins; "I couldn't very well walk in on my brother. You ought to have heard the  **noises**  coming from his tent! Sounded like someone bleeding a couple o' pigs-!"  
  
"Urgh. Don't remind me, please! I'm queasy enough as it is!" Alistair groaned, rubbing his temples as he felt the first furitive stabs of a hangover attack his brain. Sighing, he shot her a resignated look and pushed a handful of fur towards her. "Why didn't you just bunk with Leliana? I doubt she'd have turned you away..."  
  
Butters chuckled weakly, her smile looking for like a grimace as she scratched the wispy hairs coating the back of her skull. "Ahh..yes..." her cheeks flushed slightly; "...only problem is...she..um.. sleeps in the nude."  
  
Alistair quirked a brow, face relaxing into a curious expression as he propped himself on his elbow. " **Reeeeallly**?"he said, failing to hide the cheeky tone in his voice as the raven haired rogue cast him a withering look. "Hmm. Prehaps I should reconcider my policy on sleeping alone in future...!"  
  
"Gods, you really know how to make a woman feel appreciated, Alistair.." Butters muttered darkly, rolling away from him as she scowled darkly. Smile dropping slightly, the blonde man blinked in confusion.  
  
"What? Did I do something wrong?"  
  
"If you don't want me here, I'll go and sleep in the mud!" she snapped indignantly, moving to get up. As she swung her legs out of the bedroll, Alistair noticed she wasn't wearing the thigh high sage-coloured stockings that befitted her robes. He blushed slightly at the sight of the bare flesh but stopped himself before any devious thoughts entered his head. Reaching out, he managed to catch one of her wrists in a light but firm grip, pulling her back towards him.  
  
"I-I'm sorry. Don't go." he said apologeticly; "You can stay here with me."  
  
"Wouldn't you rather be nestled against Leliana's bosom, hmm? Seeing as she excites you so.." Butter's voice was weighted with ill-surpressed anger. With a swift jerk, she freed herself from the non-templar's grip and sprang upright with surprising speed.  
  
"Butters...!" Alistair called to her, confusion washing over him. But she ignored him, storming out of the tent in a clear huff of jealousy. Sighing deeply, Alistair rolled onto his back and rubbed his face with a groan.  
  
 _Women are strange bedfellows.._. he thought dejectedly to himself. As the light peeking in through the gaps in the tent began to brighten, he became aware of the sound of people shuffling about outside.  _Ugh.. no use going back to sleep with this racket._  He pulled the furs back and swung his legs over the bedroll, only to stop as he noticed something odd.  
  
The light cotton britches he wore were untied at the top, hanging dangerously low on his hips. As he moved to retie the laces, certain they'd been hitched tight the previous evening, he felt it. A rapidly-fading warmth in the apex of his thighs, combined with a curiously sticky feeling.  
  
The colour drained from his face.   
  
Panic seizing him with ten times more intensity, he pulled his britches down to his knees, frantic to inspect that tell-tale wetness. He knew all too well what it meant, having spent far too much of his youth flouting the Chantry's rather unfair ban on "polishing one's weapon". Quietly, he prayed it was simply the result of a particularly filthy dream that had gotten out of hand but judging by the fact his britches were untied and Butter's indignant behavior...  
  
An anguished groan escaped his lips as he flopped back on the animal skins.  _This isn't happening. This isn't happening. Thisisnthappeningthisisnthappening-!_  He started hyperventilating as the reality of his situation settled in. Panting, he covered his eyes with one arm, gasping helplessly as the panic took over, robbing him of each breathe.   
  
Alistair lay on the bedroll for an age, shaking and gasping as he struggled to keep his composure. When his breath had settled somewhat, he managed to sit up again, his eyes unable to look away from the wetness that coated him inconspicuously. Choking back a sob, he brushed a finger against himself, lip quivering as the light touched confirmed his fears to be true.  
  
 _No! No, no, no, no, no! It wasn't supposed to be like this! Nooooo!_  
  
"Hey, Alistair! Rise an' shine- _Oh!_ "  
  
" **GYAH!** " Alistair just about jumped out of his skin at the sound of Leliana's voice as she poked her head through the flaps of the tent. As he scrambled to preserve the last shreds of his dignity, his face burned like wildfire as she emitted a series of hysterical giggles.  
  
"I'll...um... give you a few minutes?" she tittered, visably shaking with laughter before swiftly withdrawing, the sides of the tent falling shut with a loud thwap. Scrunching his eyes tight, Alistair held his head in his hands, anguished and stricken with horror over the sudden loss of his virginity. He could only sob helplessly, fingers fisting in his hair hard enough to yank out a few sizable clumps of straw-coloured locks.  
  
 _Can this day get any worse...?!_  
  


* * *

  
  
As if responding to Alistair's anguish, the rain refused to let up until mid-afternoon, forcing the party to once more overstay their welcome in the Dalish encampment. Butters had taken to actively avoiding him as though he had the plague, prefering to spend her time in a secluded corner of the mess hall until it came time to hit the road.  
  
The journey enroute to Dragon's Peak was, for the most part, uneventful. Aside from the occasional traveling merchant passing by in the opposite direction, they came across few people on the path which seemed, in Alistair's opinion at least, to amplify the gloom that hung in the air. Even the darkspawn seemed to sense it for there was little activity to be found. The blonde non-templar felt angered at that, wishing quietly for the first time since he started this journey to be greeted by a small horde of Gemlocks-if only so he could vent some of the pent up frustration that weighed heavily upon his shoulders.  
  
Androste be damned. She was deliberately torturing him by clearing the way of such monstrosities, prefering that he instead stew in his anguish rather than take it out on the first unholy abomination he saw.  
  
His surly mood did not go unnoticed by the rest of the party, however. And by the rest of the party, that was to say Leliana would occasionally cast him concerned glances . Malcolm and Morrigan were absorbed in flirty conversation, such was the norm between them whilst Butters walked in silence, her eyes firmly fixed on the dirt at her feet. Every so often, her head would snap up and she would shoot him a fierce glare or give the red-haired bard the stink eye.  
  
By the time they'd set up came a few miles south of the peak, the tension became unbearable.  
  
As the "gruesome twosome" retired to their tent at the furthest end of the camp to indulge their twisted urges, Alistair found himself seated on a fallen log, idly poking the fire with a large stick whilst Dogmeat sat beside him watching his every move with quiet suspision.  
  
He was so lost in his own dark thoughts that he barely looked up when Leliana came to seat herself by his side. She stared at him with concern in her gentle blue eyes, lips pressed in a thin line as she rested a hand lightly upon his shoulder.  
  
"Ali?" she whispered softly, her fingers moving in a comforting manner; "You've barely spoken since we left the Brecillain Forest. Is everything alright?"  
  
Shaking his head, the blonde man sighed desperately as he scrunched his eyes shut and leaned against her, his strenght all but spent. "I did something bad..." he said quietly, voice little more than a whimper.   
Resting her chin atop his head, the Orlesian bard dipped her hand to gently rub the small of his back. "What troubles you, my friend?" she whispered soothingly, feeling him relax slightly at her touch.  
  
Of all the people in the convoy, Leliana was the only one Alistair felt he could trust with his innermost secrets, having hit it off from the very beginning. Their relationship was wholy platonic, though. He thought of her more in the way of an older sister and confidante rather than someone with whom he could share the warmth of his tent with and as he felt himself calming under her gentle caress, he gave silent thanks for having her as a friend.  
  
Had she not joined their motley crew, Alistair was sure he'd have either killed Malcolm with a shovel of some description or possibly have gone mad from his company. It was refreshing to have someone neutral around, if only so he could find comfort in a timely hug or cuddle.  
  
"I...Lee.." Alistair's voice was hoarse from having surpressed the urge to cry throughout the long journey. He lifted his head a touch to peer helplessly into her eyes, searching desperately for some sign that the last number of hours had all been a bad dream. "I...I think...I think I might've..." he breathe hard, quivering as he struggled to form the words in his mouth;   
  
"...I think I might have..had sex with... with Butters.."  
  
Leliana's hand ceases its' languid movements along his back. Pulling back, the bard held him at arm's lenght, her eyes wide with shock. "You what..?!" she gasped, failing to comprehend his words. Alistair groaned and buried his head in his hands.  
  
"It...It's true. She was in my tent this morning-"  
  
"Oh? Is that why you were indulging in some-?"  
  
"Leliana!" he blushed hotly, head jerking up; "I-I wasn't doing  **t-that**! I was... checking something.."  
  
The bard pursed her lips, quirking a brow in disbelive. "Suuure..and what did you find, exactly?"  
  
"Well, for one thing..." he exhaled heavily, pulling at the wheaten-coloured strands of his hair:   
"...I woke up feeling rather... **sticky..** "  
  
"Sticky?"  
  
"Aye. Unless I've been raped by a jar of cloudy honey in my sleep, that can only mean one thing."  
  
Leliana shook her head, an incredilous laugh resounding from her throat as she shook her head in disbelief. "Are you sure? Maybe you just had an exceptionally pleasant dream-"  
  
"Oh really?!" Alistair's tone was suddenly one of ill-supressed fury and as he jumped up from the log, Leliana recoiled in alarm as he grabbed his pack from nearby, pulling something small from one of the front pockets before dangling it angrily before her face.  
  
"Then explain what the bloody hell  **these**  are doing in my backpack!" he yelled, waving the small pair of white cotton undergarments before the startled bard. Gulping slightly, Leliana took them from him as he slumped to his knees beside Dogmeat-who gave a surly grunt but didn't move from his spot by the fire.  
  
"Well, you can't argue with the evidence.." she said slowly, brow furrowing as she gauged his reaction. "I take it then that the loss of your virginity is not an occasion to celebrate?"  
  
" **Y'think?!** "  
  
"Alistair..." the bard's tone was soft, cautious as she slipped onto the ground beside him and hugged her knees to her chest, looking at him sidelong. "Talk to me. What happened with you two?"  
  
"That's the thing, Lee." the blonde sighed darkly, mimicking her stance as he rested his forehead against his knees, avoiding her gaze; "...When I woke up, there she was. I had no idea what she was doing in my tent but she mentioned something about losing her tent in the storm. When I suggested she go bunk with you-"  
  
"Oh, Alistair! You idiot!" Leliana sighed, rolling her eyes exasperatedly. "Do you realise what you just did? She thinks you kicked her out after getting your end in! No wonder she's been giving you the evils all day!"  
  
"Well, what was I supposed to do, Leliana?! I'm not exactly an expert in this sort of thing."  
  
"You should've let her stay. Y'know, cuddle her? Make out? Maybe even indulge in a spot of morning glory, hmm? Anything to make sure she didn't leave your tent feeling cheap and dirty."  
  
"I..." Alistair raised his head, glancing across the camp to were the woman in question was busy chatting idly to Bohdan Fedic.  _Probably enquiring as to what weapon would work best in relieving me of my crown jewels..._  he thought with a grimace. "...The only thing is, Lee.. I can't remember for the life of me most of what happened last night. Hell, apart from her undergarments, she was still fully dressed when I stumbled upon her!"  
  
The red-haired bard chuckled lightly, playfully swatting his arm.   
"Ah. Prehaps your lust was just too pressing to wait until you'd relieved her of her clothing, non?"  
  
Alistair flushed deeply, coloured pink up right up to his hairline.   
"No idea."  
  
"You can't remember  **anything**?"  
  
"Not a sausage."  
  
"Wow..." Leliana said with surprise, leaning back to rest against the fallen log, her gaze fixed upon the young rogue across the way. "I'm so sorry, Alistair."  
  
"My first night in the arms of a woman and I can't even remember! Urgh...that's not like me, Lee. I-I'm not the kind of man who'll fall into bed a woman he barely knows!" the non-templar croaked, his shoulders heaving as he fought back the urge to cry over the unfairness of it all.   
  
He had spent so long dreaming of the day when he would finally know what it felt like to bask in the warmth of a woman's bedchamber. He secretly longed to savour each tenative touch, each breathless wisper, each soft gasp, a hot, raspy breath in his ear. He wanted to take his time, to go slow and enjoy his first night for what is should've been- an important mark of passage, one he had hoped to share with someone whom he'd been courting for a sizable amount of time. He wanted the simple tradional, fairytale experience of being in love with someone before he gave himself up so willingly.  
  
But this?   
  
This felt wrong, dirty.  
  
His whole perfect image of how he might have given up his innocence was now forever sullied by a drunken night of debauchery he could barely remember.  
  
 _That's it..._  He thought morosely, furiously brushing at the ghosts of tears with the back of his hand;  _From this day foreward, I vow never again to let a single drop of alcohol touch my lips. It's more trouble than it's worth._  
  
"Have you tried speaking to her about it?" Leliana queried gently, moving to brush an errant lock of hair from her eyes; "It might be good to clear the air before we reach Denerim. All this tension cannot be good for your health."  
  
"But what do I say to her, Lee? ' _Oh, hi! Sorry did bother you this evening but did I by any chance give you my prized Chantry Cherry last night? I did? Funny. I can't seem to recall it for the life of me!_ '" Alistair replied mockingly, glowering into the fire.  
  
Getting to her feet, Leliana brushed the dust from her robe and offered a hand to help him up. Placing her hands on her dear friend's shoulders, she urged him forward, pushing him towards the northern end of the camp where Butter's new tent lay in a heap against a large, flat boulder.  
  
"L-Leliana-! What're you doing-?!"  
  
"Talk to her. You need to set the record straight if you're to have any chance of salvaging your dignity."  
  
"But I-!"  
  
"It will be painful, of that I have no doubt, but it will be far worse if you continue to put it off. Go to her. Explain the situation as best as you can but for goodness sake, be gentle. She's most likely hurt and offended by your little faux-pas so try not to add further insult to injury, okay?" Leliana said tersely, shooing him forward.  
  
Casting an uncertain glance at her from over his shoulders, Alistair gulped back a lump in his throat. "I...I wouldn't know where to begin, Lee."  
  
"A heartfelt apology wouldn't go amiss."  
  
"O-okay.." he inhaled sharply, steeling himself for what was sure to be a tense conversation to come. "Wish me luck."  
  
"I'll be here if you need me."  
  
He nodded once, wringing his fingers anxiously.   
  
Breathing hard and fast, he puffed up his chest in a vain attempt to cover his nerves and took a number of unsteady steps towards the young rogue, who had now taken to poking and prodding at the heap of sticks and canvases at her feet, a colourful string of curses in a language unfamiliar to his ears ringing through the air.  
  
" _Argh! Estúpido tienda de mierda ...!_ "she yelled irrately, throwing a tent-pole over his shoulder. It hit Alistair square in the middle of his forehead, causing him to yelp in alarm. Turning sharply, Butters watched with wide, startled eyes as he stumbled blindly before resting against the boulder, a hand flying to stem the blood flowing from the shallow cut she'd inflicted.  
  
"Ow! Jeez, that was uncalled for!" he gasped, one eye shutting against the steady trickle of blood that oozed from the gash. Swallowing slightly, Butters seated herself on the edge of the boulder, a handful of tent fabric in her hands. Ripping a sizable strip free, she reached up and daubed at the bloody laceration, her lips pursed in a thin line.  
  
"I assure you, that was an accident." she said unconvincingly, eyes heavy with irration as they bore into him. Reaching up, Alistair placed his hand over hers, meeting her gaze with fear in his eyes. He breathed in slowly, considering his words carefully before spoke, his tone low and wary.  
  
"Can we talk? About... about last night."  
  
"What's there to talk about, Alistair?" she said curly, her nail accidently-on-purpose scraping the bruised flesh of his forehead, ellicting a sharp hiss from the embattled young non-templar; "I'm well used to getting blown off by guys once they've gotten their rocks off. Why should I think you any different from the rest?"  
  
He brought her hand down to rest in her lap, his expression helpless as he averted his eyes.  
"B-Butters..."  
  
"Forget it. There's nothing to talk about. Let's just pretend it never happened, okay?"  
  
"N-no.." he gave her hand a slight squeeze, tension raising the veins in his palm as he did so; "Please-please just hear me out, okay?"  
  
Breath hissing through her teeth, Butters raised her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Oh, fine. Say what you have to say then kindly go back to fawning over your  **girlfriend** -"  
  
"First off-" Alistair snapped his head up, his gaze intense as he frowned darkly; "-I already told you: Leliana is  **not**  my girlfriend, alright? If you must know, she's actually a lesbian so get that thought out of your head for one damn minute and stop jumping to conclusions, alright?"  
  
Butters blinked, arching an eyebrow as she glanced over his shoulder at the bard. The red-head caught her gaze and waved impishly, causing a bead of sweat to form on the rogue's temple.  
  
"Okay, I'll take your word for it.."  
  
"Secondly.." Alistair held her hand with a firm but unsteady grip; "...Last night.. I-I have no recollection of what happened between us but I think the evidence speaks for itself. Thirdly, you need know, however, that before you came back to my tent..." he closed his eyes, tensing as he willed himself to get the words out. "...I was a virgin."  
  
"Wait.." Butters said slowly, causing him to open his eyes at the tone of his voice. She stared at him incrediously, his olive eyes the size of saucers and making her youthful face appear even younger still.   
" **That**  was your first time...?!"  
  
Gulping back the lump of tension in his throat, he nodded slowly.   
"You seem surprised..."  
  
"Well, yeah!" she gasped, a hand flying to run through her cropped hair as a disbelieving laugh rolled forth from her lips; "I mean.. wow.  **Wow**. You could've easily fooled me, Alistair. I mean, blimey! I've never been with someone with such...  **vigor**! Are you entirely sure I was your first?!"  
  
Alistair blushed deeply, a timid smile pulling the corners of his mouth; "W-Well, I..I  _have_  had sex before... just.. not with anyone besides myself." He instantly slapped himself for that, aggrivating the cut on his scalp as he grimaced at his own words. "I-I'm sorry! That was stupid! And vulgar! A-And...! Ahh, I should go...before I make an even bigger idiot of myself-!"  
  
Before he could move to get up, however, Butters stopped him by threading her fingers through his. Blinking, the young blonde cocked his head to oneside, looking at her with confusion.  
Her surly expression had dropped into a warm smile-just like the one she'd worn during that faithful meeting beneath the trees. His heartrate lept up slightly at the sight of it but he didn't trust himself to question her actions.  
  
"Alistair..." she said softly, the anger in her gaze dissolving; "I'm not mad at you anymore."  
  
"Y-you're not? But I... I was so rude to you this morning, kicking you out of my tent like that."  
  
"I'm sure you didn't mean it. Okay, I mean, sure I  **was**  kinda offended by that but now I release it was simply the nerves talkin'. If you were a virgin beforehand, then it's safe to say you've never shared a bed with a woman either?" Butter's tone was gentle, reassuring even and as she smiled up at him, Alistair felt the last of his nerves disapate, his shoulders slumping as the burden of the past day finally eased off.  
  
"Aside from occasionally tending to Leliana during one of her drunken escapades? Ah, no. No, I've never had the pleasure of having a bed-mate..."he murmured sheepishly, turning away as he moved to scritch at the stubble on his chin.  
  
"So, what now?" the raven haired woman enquired, looking at him with questioning; "Where do we go from here?"  
  
"I...I don't know, Butters. I've never been in a situation like this, obviously. I don't know how it works." He watched her with lightly veiled eyes and an uncertain expression. She nodded slightly, lifting their entwined hands to lightly kiss his knuckles. At this, Aistair's breath quickened. Her lips felt soft and warm against the rough skin of his hand and as she gently untwined them, she moved his trembling fingers to rest lightly against the curve of her cheek.  
  
"If it's what you want, I would be.. willing to pursue this..."  
  
"Pursue...? Y-Y'mean as in... courting?"  
  
"Mmm. I like you, Alistair." Butters whispered, nuzzling against his hand; "And I'm not just saying that because you're hung like a donkey!"  
  
" **M-Maker's breath!** " Alistair's hand shot back as though she'd just burnt him, his eyes wide and his cheeks blazing as every last drop of blood in his body rushed to the surface.  _Tell me she did not just say what I think she just said!_  
  
Giggling deviously, Butters placed a hand lightly on his neck, tracing a featherlite trail along the sinewy knots of flesh until it came to rest beneath his chin. Tilting his jaw down slightly, she smiled impishly at him, her eyes glistening mischeviously. "Can't take a compliment, hmm?"  
  
"I...I! Whew...!" he made a slight choking noise in his throat, a stunned smile etched upon his features; "Wow..! I... w-w-was I  **really**  that good..?!" he said timidly, his voice little more than a high-pitched squeak. Butters chuckled richly, pulling him close until the tips of their noses just brushed together.  
  
"You were..." she hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right word to adequately describe his prowess in the sack. After internally debating with herself for a moment, she couldn't settle on one and instead took to listing as many as possible; ".. mind-blowing, incredible, insatiable, amazing..!"  
  
Alistair was now blushing so fiercely he was fairly certain he was either going to pass out or have the mother of all nosebleeds. Sucking in a breath, he chuckled in spite of the fact, fanning himself with one hand. "Whew! Heh...! Now if only I could remember exactly what I did to earn such a glowing review...!"  
  
Curling her fingers under his chin, she pulled him closer, ghosting her lips over his experimentally. He let out a tiny whimper, his bottom lip quivering with a mixture of nerves and excitement.  
"I could jog your memory if you life.." she said huskily, her voice weighted with deliscious promise.  
  
Knowing he would later be kicking himself for what he was about to say, Alistair pulled back from her wanton lips and sighed deeply. "As much as I am...  **very**  tempted by that offer, I...I'm afraid I must polietly decline." he cast her a look of terror, paling slightly; "For one thing, your brother would go  **ballistic** -!"  
  
"Pffft. I'm a grown woman. Only I and I alone get to decide who shares my bedroll. Besides, I'm well used to Malcolm's dubious attempts at chasing off any would-be suitors-"  
  
"Y-you don't understand, do you, Butters? Malcolm will  **literally**  kill me. I'm not joking. You didn't see what he did to those werewolves lurking in the Brecillian Forest! I shudder to think what he might do if he found I was...  **caboodling**  with his little sister...!" Alistair trembled with fright, glancing wildly around in the hopes that the man in question wasn't about to suddenly jump out of a bush and shank him in the gut with a rusty fork.  
  
Shaking her head in amusement at the young blonde's terror, Butters reached up and gently ran her hands through his hair in a bid to comfort him. Despite himself, Alistair found himself leaning towards her sweet touches, whimpering softly as he chewed awkwardly on his lower lip.  
"Relax. I'm a mistress of stealth." she breathed, angling herself just so her lips touched his with the faintest movement. He gasped hotly, closing his eyes and willing himself not to lean forward and deepen the touch.  
  
 _Damn her! Such shameless behavior!_  
  
"B-But Malcolm-!" he managed to croak.   
  
She smiled against him, her fingers fisting slightly in his hair.   
"Let me handle him. You just sit back and enjoy the ride, Donkey Boy."  
  
"Oh, gods... please promise me you'll  **never**  call me that in public!"he groaned, yet there was a playful grin upon his face. As much as he knew he was playing with fire by indulging her, he found himself hopelessy drawn into her kiss. Like a moth to a flame, he was helpless to resist and as he felt her lips brush his with sweet, savoring touches, he became entirely willing to throw himself into the fires of pure, unadultrated desire.  
  
They kissed for an age, starting off as chaste at first before things soon hotted up, moving into open-mouthed territory. Mindful of his inexperience, Butters spent most of her self-control trying hard to not delve her tongue into his mouth should she traumasize him completely. It was rather endearing to be with someone so pure, so unsullied by years of looking for love in all the wrong places. Her fingers played with the soft wisps at the base of skull, causing him to illicit a low moan.  
  
Despite wanting to touch her with every fibre of his being, Alistair kept his hands to himself, not trusting them an inch as he sat ridgid on that flat-topped boulder, enjoying her minestrations but nervous of his own fumbling hands, unable to keep them from shaking against his sides.  
  
After what felt like hours, they finally managed to pull away for air. He stared at her for a time, studying her with keen interest. Her face was flushed and hot with longing, her lips bruised and swollen from their feverish kisses, her quick and uneven breathing causing that damnable bosom of hers to heave, almost mocking him.  
  
"Alistair...as much as it kills me to say this.." she managed to gasp, her hands flying to fix her hair; "Let's...let's call it a night."  
  
"Uh.. yes... g-good idea. Let's not get ahead of ourselves." he mumbled, unable to meet her gaze. Her fingers stroked down his cheek, catching on his stubble and he struggled with himself not to turn and take those gentle digits in his mouth, suckling them like a greedy child-  
  
"Just... ahh.. my tent..." she chuckled in spite of herself, glancing back at the mess of canvas and tent poles cutting a lonely figure on the ground behind her.   
  
"Ahh, yes. I-I'd invite you back to mine but something tells me I wouldn't be able to keep my hands to myself.." Alistair simpered, chuckling awkwardly. Butters nodded in understanding, getting up from her seat to head towards the fire.  
  
"Guess I'll go and shack up with Leliana tonight." there was no hiding the nerves in her voice and as she glanced at her new conquest with uncertainty, the raven haired rogue cast him a troubled smile. He knew what she was thinking and couldn't help the laugh that came rolling up his throat.  
  
"Don't worry. Leliana won't try anything."  
  
"You're certain?"  
  
"Aye, and if she does, at least I have the mental image of you getting hopelessly ravaged by a scrumptious bit of fine Orlesian totty to lull me to sleep..!"  
  
"Oh lord... what  **have**  I gotten myself into..?!"

 

* * *

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woops. Life got a bit crazy this month, hence the lull in updates. Still taking some time out from writing due to stress but I'll be back in action once I get some much needed rest. That said, have a reasonably fresh chapter from my back catalogue!
> 
> Also: A WILD ZEVRAN APPEARS!
> 
> Enjoy.

##  [**C**](https://shastania.deviantart.com/art/Salted-Butter-Chp-4-164552050) **HAPTER 4**

  
Sleep did not come easy to the young non-templar over the coming nights.   
  
As small mercies went, he was thankful Butters hadn't pressed the issue of them sharing a tent for the duration of the stormy weather but by the Maker, did her scandalous words linger in his ear.  
She had teased him mercilessly, showing the same level of deviousness he'd normally come expect from her brother. Every look, every action she took was designed to stroke the fire in his loins and cause him no end of discomfort.  
  
Just before they parted ways outside his tent not hours past, Alistair had been both blessed and cursed with a quick flash of her cleavage, spilling out from her size-too-small bodice as she pressed into him, her mouth brushing against his own in a charged kiss that ended all too abruptly when she heard Malcolm's heavy footfalls retreat from his witche's tent.  
  
Now, in the desperate chill of dawn, he lay against his bedroll, a thin film of sweat coating his feverish skin. How had it come to this, he wondered? Only three days ago, he had been the same old virtuous, unsullied Alistair, quietly longing for the fairytale romance. Now, he was just as bad as the rest of the rowdy templars in his old order,  stumbling into bed with the first woman who so much as farted in his general direction.  
  
A grimace pulled at his mouth as he tried not to think of the implications.  
  
 _Of all the women in all the tents of Thedas..._ he thought wretchedly, burying his face in his hands as he lay flat on his back, trembling with a mixture of fear and agitation.  
  
Why did it have to be Malcolm's sister? At least if she was simply a member of the Dalish clan, he wouldn't have to suffer the indignity of seeing her face at every turn. He could've just left the camp with his head bowed in shame and his pride severely bruised, quietly hoping he might never return to sully that lush greenary once more.  
  
Instead, the source of his troubled thoughts had come along for the ride and whilst happy to have reunited her with the only family she had left, Alistair was quite put out by Butter's pressence in the camp, none more so when the memories of their drunken tryst slowly came into focus as the hangover wore off.  
  
He vaguely recalled the flush of her cheeks and how soft they felt against his shaking fingers. Little gasps and moans echoed faintly in his ears as he remembered how she arched against him, her breathe hot and erratic. Yet, for all the pleasurable escapades they had gotten up to, Alistair could not for the life of him ever recall seeing her naked. He desperately searched his fuzzy memories, half out of disbelief and half out of a masochistic longing to remind himself of his loss.  
  
The ghost of her plump calves brushed against him, the light brown cotton of her thigh-high tights tickling his aching flesh as she wound her legs around him,  her ill-supressed cries of pleasure spurring him on. Alistair scrunched his eyes shut at the thought, simultaniously disgusted with himself and aroused by the lithe touch.  
  
Sighing deeply, he dropped his hands down to his collor, raking his fingers over his bare, sweaty chest until they rested upon the hard line of his hips. His nails brushed lightly against the deep red markings that marred his lightly tanned skin- **her**  markings.  
  
She seemed so genuine when it came to praising his so-called performance but Alistair still couldn't quite grasp the idea of him being a stud straight out of the stable.  _Maybe she was simply humouring me..._  he thought morosely,  his own nails digging hard into the puckered flesh and causing him to hiss out a breath through his teeth.  
  
 _Prehaps behind that impish, dimpled smile of hers, she is just as cruel as Malcolm._  
  
He couldn't help but whimper, unable to contain the tears for a second longer as anguish took hold once again. Of all the women to give himself over to, why did it have to be her? If he had woken up with Leliana beside him, at least they'd had a long enough friendship to make the deed somewhat more meaningful than an inebrated tussle with a complete stranger. That was prehaps what disturbed him more than anything- that the one thing he'd longed for, the one promising thought that got him through many a lonely night in the Chantry was now forever tainted by a moment of sheer madness.  
  
Of course, Butters was as much to blame as himself. It  **did**  take two to tango, as it were.  
  
Alistair still couldn't figure out exactly who had initatied the passionate liason but going on how she would regularly bat her lashes and subtly flirt when she thought her sibling wasn't looking, he would bet good money that the raven haired rogue was behind all this. His fingers tensing out of anger, he found his nails biting into the taunt flesh of his hips hard enough to draw a tiny trickle of blood.  
  
 _Damn you, Butters! Damn you, you...you...defiler of virgins...!_  he choked back a sob, biting his lip as the pain stung at his flesh. As though moving of their own accord, his fingers brushed away the blood, smearing it into the taunt crease where hip met thigh, the tips sliding beneath the low waistband of his linen britches to edge dangerously close to the growing tension within.  
  
He cursed silently, hating her for what she'd reduced him to.   
  
She had taken from him that which he held sacred and in return, burdened him with a feverish, aching desire that was almost his undoing, for as much as he wanted to go back and erase the damage she had dealt to his foolish dreams, he wanted to feel her warmth upon him once more, to familiarize himself with every blasted curve of her short, robust frame.  
  
As his fingers swiftly stroked the blazing fire raging deep within, he whimpered helplessly, rolling onto his stomach to bury his face in his pillow. Maker help him, he wanted to feel her again- to look upon her in the harsh light of soberity and drink her in. He thought of her gasping face, how the sweat made her skin glisten so invitingly as she ellicited those wanton noises-noises he coaxed forth from her throat with each fumbling thrust.  
  
Arching into that thought, Alistair let the slightest moan escape his throat, quivering at the sensations that washed over him. As pleasent as they might be, they no doubt paled in comparrison to the real thing. That forbidden warmth, that glorious tightness that shelted him with every jerk of his pelvis.  
  
Gods, how he craved it.  
  
His grip tightened almost painfully, the fire rapidly spreading to envelope him completely as he quickened his strokes, teeth snagging painfully on his lips. Alistair clenched his eyes shut, remembering that tantilising glimpse of her cleavage when she'd first revealed her Chasind robes.  
  
He remembered how they would quiver with each breath, each estatic gasp, each barely-contained scream. By the Maker, he wanted to feel them again, to take them hard in each hand and caress them with wreckless abandon. He bucked his hips wildly now, frantic to find a release from the sweet torture.  
  
"A-ahh..!" A gasp fluttered from his lips, causing him to drop to his side, doubled over as his traitorous hand jerked and twisted with alarming speed. Feeling that wonderful heat swell inside his chest, his free hand flew to his mouth, biting down hard on it as he tried desperately to silence the scream that rumbled in the pit of his stomach.  
  
White light exploded before his eyes, forcing him to arch his back towards the heavens, his body threatening to float away as a fierce orgasm spread through him like wildfire. One more shaking gasp, another tiny twist and he was spent, limbs all but liquifying as he collasped against the bedroll, breath shallow and ragged.  
  
It had been like this every night.  
  
Every single cursed night, he was stricken with such overwelming longing that it was little wonder he didn't simply sling Butters over his shoulder, drag her back to his tent and exact sweet, sweet revenge for her thievery. Still, Chantry-bred chivalry was a hard thing to shake off for the most part so he had to make do with the familiar, comforting touch of his own hands. Cleaning himself with a small box of tissues he had taken to keeping nearby for such unsavory activities,  he sighed through his nose and glanced up at the gap in the tent ceiling.  
  
The light outside was a muted orange color, signalling the approaching dawn. He wondered quietly if he might be fortunate enough to steal a quick dip in the lake before they packed up camp and moved out enroute to Denerim.   
  
Heaven knows he could do with the mother of all cold showers...  
  
  
 *********  
  
  
"I have a question, dear Warden." Leliana queried, after the party had been travelling for an hour or so. Not bothering to look at the pretty young bard, Malcolm responded with a low grunt.  
  
"Speak."  
  
"I'm just curious." Leliana sprinted to his side, oblivious to the annoyed sigh that rasped from the burly man's nostrils; "You always struck me as the sort to be an only child...yet you have a sister  young enough to be your daughter!"  
  
"Yes, yes. I'm old." Malcolm sniffed haughtily, casting the red-head a withering expression. "Get to the point, woman!"  
  
"Ahh... well, I was simply wondering: are there to be any  **more**  pleasent surprises along the way? Any more of your breathren scattered to the furthest corners of Thedas, perhaps?" Leliana's tone was jovial, inquisitive and peppy- three things the elder warden could hardly stand even in the most minute doses.  
Pinching the bridge of his nose as he mentally counted to ten in a bid to quell his growing temper, Malcolm forced himself to indulge her with an embattled smile. Judging by how she shrank back, however, it was safe to say the expression more resembled a look of deep disgust...  
  
"I had one other sibling if you care to know." he sighed, rolling his eyes darkly as the bard bounced on her heels, her inquisitiveness growing to full on delight as she processed this new information. "A brother, a year younger than myself. Fergus was his name."  
  
"There's something I wish to ask you, Malcolm." Butters pipped in, joining her sibling on his left as they strolled idly along the dirt path. "Is.. is he still alive?" her voice was soft, expectant but anxious and as Malcolm stopped to turn towards his sister, she saw the faintest flicker of emotion beneath the cold exterior of his scowl.  
  
His slate-grey eyes were heavy with remorse but he kept it well hidden, his lips thinning into a hard line. "I seriously doubt it, Butters..." he said slowly, his gaze boring into hers. He was not one to be gentle in any given situation but considering the person he was speaking with was likely the last person left in Thedas who could see through his bravado, he tried to muster up some effort to cushion the blow.  
  
"Last I heard, he was among those caught in the web of Loghain's betrayal."  
  
"In other words..." Butters said slowly, not looking at him; "...he fell along with most of Ostagar...?"  
  
"Uh.." Malcolm made a great show of clearing his throat, clearly uncomfortable at playing anything other than the caustic, quick-tempered, dagger-shanking bastard role he'd grown to love so dearly over the weeks since Castle Cousland fell. Taught from a young age not to let his emotions rule his head in times of war and unrest, he was unused to  such 'weak' feelings as empathy and compassion and whilst he held much of both for his baby sister, he'd rather run stark naked into the mouth of the Archdemon than admit it in public.   
  
"I-I never said that, Butters... but I think it's safe to assume that Fergus is deader than a Gyphon at this stage..."  
  
 _Shiiit..._  he mentally smacked himself, wincing at the pained expression on her face as his comment cut through her;  _That came out wrong._  
  
Sensing the tension between the two, Leliana coughed conspicuously. "Uh! So! You're the eldest, I pressume?" she said breezily in a bid to distract from the sensitive subject, a bead of sweat trickling lightly down her temple.  
  
Chuckling awkwardly, Malcolm nodded once yet his eyes did not pull away from his sibling. She was looking at him a way that only he understood to say: ' _Best not to dwell on that which pains you'_ , as their father had often said throughout their childhood.   
As anguished as Butters was, years of stunted emotional growth prevented Malcolm from extending his arms and embracing the last surviving remnant of the Cousland dynasty.  
  
Instead, he rested a hand gently upon her shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. She nodded once at him in understanding. Clearing her throat roughly, Butters took to smoothing out the front of her bodice, forcing a smile at the red-haired bard.  
"Uh, yes. Malcom's the old git of the gang at thirty seven. Fergus was the middle child at thirty six and I'm the baby at twenty two."  
  
"Wow. Fifteen years between you! That's quite an age gap!" Leliana gasped with intrigue, thumbing her lip as she considered them both. The resemblance was fairly obvious if you knew what to look for. Both had the same strong features: heavy-set eyes in shades of grey and olive respectively, full lips and a strong jaw. What seperated them however, was the suble differences. Apart from the obvious ones relating to their respective genders, Malcolm was much sharper along the edges, having been forged in the heat of battle to resemble a fearsome barbarian swathed with layers of taunt, rippling muscles.  
  
Butters, in stark contrast, seemed to have been sculpted from pudding.   
  
Whilst not large in the negetive sense of the word, Butters had a certain roundness to her that could've only come from a love of fine crusine and easy living. Her  sage and tan-coloured Chasind robes were deliberately too tight for her frame, serving to emphasize her subtle hour-glass physique to the utmost maximun, the cups of her bodice practically running over as her formidable breasts struggled to escape.  
  
 _A fine, voluptuous specimen of womanhood!_  Leliana thought, unconsiously licking her lips.  
  
"Aye, that it is. You can only imagine the shock when I heard the news!" Malcolm said pointedly, snapping the bard from her lustful reverie; "Bad enough finding out your parents are still knockin' boots at their age-" he paused, shuddering violently; "-But makin'  **babies**? Yeesh...!"  
  
"You make it sound like I was  **planned!** " Butters sniffed, punching him lightly in the arm.  
  
"Heh. It's true. You  **did**  come as a shock to us all!"  
  
"Indeed." the raven haired woman sniffed, pursing her lips as she tried not to smile at the ribbing; "As much an ass as you are, dear Malcolm, I still like to think I bring out your sweet side."  
  
"I don't have any sweet sides, Butters. I'm a bastard-coated bastard filled with extra bastardly-ness."  
  
"And a rich, nougaty centre!"  
  
"Ahh. Always thinking of food." Malcolm prodded her lightly in the ribs, a teasing grin pulling the corners of his lips. Like Butters, they too dimpled but the effect was lost in the deep creases of  the ironicly-named "laughter lines" snaking over his jaw. "Keep that up, you might have to buy yourself a bigger bodice!"  
  
"I'm  **not**  fat!" she yelled shrilly, face flushing with indignity as she punched him harder. The action did nothing other than inflict a dull ache in her knuckles from where they rapped hard against the thick steel-plates. A barking laugh rumbled beneath the heavy chestplate.  
  
"Better lay off the cheesecake, tubby!" Malcolm pinched an inch off her bare forearm, elliciting a squeal of alarm from the young woman. She rewarded him with a swift slap to the face.  
"S-Shut up!" she gasped, eyes wide with fury.   
  
Malcolm pursed his lips in amusement.  "You're pretty when you're mad!" He reached up to run a hand over his cheek, feeling his skin sting slightly. "You're also a lousy shot. How on earth did you survive on your own all this time without me to fight your battles, hmm?"  
  
Butters folded her arms over her chest, inadvertly pushing it up.   
"I have other skills!"  
  
"Ah, yes. Your dubious feminine wiles...!" He glanced over her, sneering at her skimpy robes. When it came to the issue of Butter's purity, he loved to play the "big brother" card, if only to drive her utterly insane in the process. Watching as she gritted her teeth and shot him an evil glare, he couldn't help but laugh at how flustered she appeared.  
  
"Urgh! You are  **such**  an asshole!"  
  
"Better than being a fat whore!"  
  
Butters gave a scathing snort, reaching up to slap the back of his head. "Yeah? Well at least I'm not going  **bald!"**  
  
Malcolm's face dropped, his face draining of all color as his hands flew to the bristles on his scalp.  
He'd always been testy over his dwindling hair and had taken to shaving it close in a bid to hide the fact he was blighted with the dreaded Cousland curse of male pattern baldness. Glowering deeply at her, he once more took to tugging his wolfskin over her frame, exhaling in exasperation as she shrugged the fur away.  
  
"Low blow, woman! Low blow!"  
  
"Shall I turn her into a toad?" Morrigan said casually, sidling up to her lover and casting the newcomer to their group a look of derision as she leaned against her staff. The elder Warden chuckled darkly, looking over his shoulder at her.  
  
"Oh, Morrigan! You tempt me so!"  
  
Butters squirmed under him, eventually managing to break free and cower behind Leliana-who was watching the exchange with great amusement. Just as she was about to respond with a barbed insult, however, Butters jumped at a series of urgent barks coming from further up the path.  
  
"Darkspawn?" Malcolm said edgily, eyes narrowed as Alistair-who had kept his distance from the group for most of the morning- slowly slid his broadsword out of the holster on his back.  
  
"No... doesn't feel like it.." he muttered low, hackles raised as his body tensed in preparation for a fight. The party stalked up the path with caution, weapons drawn as they followed the tense barking into a wide forest clearing.   
Several large freight wagons lay toppled on their sides, their contents strewn wildly about the ground, amid several dead bodies. There seemed to be no sign of any darkspawn activity, however, and as Alistair took a wary step forward, something didn't feel right to him about the situation.  
  
"I don't like this...I smell a trap." he said tensely, fingers gripping hard on the hilt of his blade.  
  
"Any surviors?" Leliana queried, pulling the string of her bow taunt, arrow at the ready.  
Dogmeat sniffed lightly at a nearby corpse, a low growl rumbling from his muscular belly before a low bark signalled he was happy enough to relieve himself on the poor unfortunate's leg. Tutting loudly, Butters called the dog off, ordering him to flank her as she moved in cautiously with the rest of the group.  
  
Goosebumps raised on her skin, more from fear than anticipation. She was never adept at fighting and favored the art of stealth to get her out of tight situations more often than not. As she scoped out the surroundings, however, an agitated grunt escaped her when she realised the clearing was effectively cut off from the rest of the forest by an overhang of rocks from the cliff-face.  
  
 _Looks like I may have to get my hands dirty after all.._  she grumbled, yanking her daggers from the holsters on her hips. Feeling their weight in the palm of her hands, she still couldn't get her head around the feel of cold, hard steal against her skin. It was a necessary evil, a skill she had to grudgingly learn for the sake of survival but it didn't make her feel any safer.  
  
Breath baited with anxiety, she watched in silence, daggers at the ready as the party moved further into the clearing.   
  
"Thank the Maker!" a small woman covered in mud and dirt ran out from behind a large boulder, wide eyed and frightened as she gestured wildly to her fallen convoy. "We were ambushed! Please! You must help us!"  
  
Malcolm cocked a brow, mouth fixed in a sneer as he glared down the end of his nose.  
"Very well. For a price."  
  
The woman jumped, paling even further. "I-I don't have much to offer but if you help me, I'll be sure you are richly rewarded when I get back to Redcliffe-!"  
  
"I prefer my payment upfront." the elder Warden said curtly, teeth bared in an intimidating snarl. The woman shrank back slightly. Watching as her arms moved to curl behind her back, Butters shot a warning glance at Alistair, giving the slightest of nods. He met her gaze with an unreadable expression, his lips thinned as his grip tightened on his sword.  
  
"Very well. Then you shall be paid with a bounty of blood!"  
  
Malcolm had barely smacked the dagger-wielding woman out of the way when he was suddenly pelted by a rain of arrows. Raising his shield just in time, he felt them thunk hard off the thick wood, a buzz of shouts and cries penetrating the air.  
  
"Ambush!" Leliana gasped, firing off her own weapon in retalliation as a fire bomb whizzed past her left cheek to explode right behind her. Wincing as the hot flames licked at her arms, she lunged into the fray, beating off  a handful of elven warriors that had sprung up seemingly from thin air.  
  
Cursing loudly, Malcolm managed to get a few swipes in with his broadsword, using his shield as a battering ram against the teaming horde of assasins that had crawled out from the fetid rocks. At his back, Morrigan was busy jolting them into the next century with an electrifying display of lightning bolts shooting forth from her finger tips.  
  
"Look out!" Alistair yelled in alarm as a rogue bolt nearly sent hot liquid energy coursing through Butter's body. He managed to yank her back in time, the surge of electricity scorching a sizable hole right where she'd been standing. Eyes widening, Butters shot Morrigan an accusitory glare.  
  
"That  **bitch**! She did that on purpose!" she shrieked incredilously, scrambling to her feet as she spied a mercinary to her left with an axe drawn up over his head.  
  
"Now's not the time!" Alistair yelled back, leaping forward to stab the enemie through the chest in one clean, well-practiced jab.   
  
"Quick, behind you!"  
  
Whirling on her heels, the raven haired rogue swiped her daggers just in time to pary against a heavy longsword. Gasping at the strain in her arms, she managed to curl a leg up and kick the offender away, soon following that action with a quick flick of her wristt, sending one of her daggers hurtling into the mercinarie's face.  
  
Seizing her opening, Butters used the newly-felled enemie's back as a springboard, leaping into the air before rolling and swiping wildly to the ground, getting in a few quick slashes before a large hand grabbed her by the scruff.  
  
"Get out of here, Butters! Malcolm practically screamed in her face, only to drop her as a shrieking assasin barrelled into him, catching off guard. Yelling in alarm, Butters jabbed her remaining dagger upward, shanking the brute in the neck before pulling back and lopping his head off with enough force to shower them both with arterial blood.  
  
Grimacing, she shielded her eyes with her free hand as the hot, thick liquid coated her face with claret. The smell was enough to make her dry heave but she held it together long enough to cut the legs out from a passing archer. Another one uldilated, a fierce war-cry ringing out across the clearing as a barrage of arrows sailed over her head.  
  
Though the battle was long and arduorous, gradually the horde of mercenaries was soon cut down to size. After what felt like days, the remaining stragglers of the group had either died from their greivous injuries or fled into the brush.   
  
"Bleed, piggy!  **Bleed!** " Malcolm yelled, voice hoarse from hours spent barking orders and insults as he plunged his sword into the head of a fallen archer, a wet thud reverberating around him. Yanking the blade back, he shook the blood off with a swift flick before resheathing it, panting hard as he struggled to catch his breath.  
  
"By the Maker, where did that shower of bastards come from?!" Leliana gasped in shock, gritting her teeth as she wrenched an arrow out of her forearm. Butters flinched at the sight of her, a hand reaching to quell the rising tide of nausea that threatened to spill forth from her stomach.  
  
Blood.  
  
Blood and guts.  
  
Blood and guts and death.  
  
Her stomach churned uncomfortably.  _Maker help me, I am not cut out for this life..!_  she thought woozily, getting unsteadily to her feet as Alistair helped her up.  
  
"Are you alright? You're not hurt?" he panted, giving her a once over glance. She smiled in spite of the quesiness and let her hand linger in his for a touch longer than it should.  
  
"I'll be fine, so long as I don't inhale..."  
  
"It would appear.." Morrigan said with disgust lacing her voice; "...That one still survives. The leader, I should wager, if the audacity of his armour is anything to go by.." the witch folded her arms over her chest, scowling down at the man cowering at her feet. As he dared place a bloodied hand upon her leather-clad toes, the witch drew her leg back and kicked him with substanial force square in the face.  
  
"Ay! I yield! I yield!" he gasped, rolling onto his back as he clutched what was most certain to be a broken nose. As Malcolm bent low, sword in hand to glare at the fallen assasin, he noted the man to be of elven descent, recodnizing the markings upon his bloodied, dirt-caked face.  
  
"You have  **exactly**  twenty seconds to convince me not to ventilate your spleen, knife-ears-!"  
  
"W-Wait!"   
  
Butters startled herself with the volume of her voice, her face drained of all colour as a surge of recognition shot through her. 

 _You've_ _ **got**_ _to be kidding me-!_  

Brushing past her brother, she kneeled by the side of the blonde assassin, cradling his head in her lap as she brushed sodden strands of bone-coloured hair from his eyes, an uncharacteristicly tender gesture.  
  
"Butters, what on earth are you doing-?!" Both Malcolm and Alistair gasped, watching in disbelief as the raven haired rogue took to rubbing a health poultice along the man's lacerated face. He hissed slightly as the mysterious red liquid sooked deep into his wounds but relaxed as the blood cleared from his vision just enough to let him gaze upon his helper.  
  
A breathless gasp escaped him, his lips spreading in a relieved smile.  
  
 _"Margerina! Mi corizone!"_

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feck it, have another chapter on the house!  
> There's twelve in total and I'll be uploading on a somewhat regular basis providing that the archive isn't down and/or life doesn't get between my writing and editing sessions. For now, feel free to enjoy the latest offering of an old fic of mine.  
> I do so love writing love triangles, mehheh!
> 
> -Chubbs

[**C**](https://shastania.deviantart.com/art/Salted-Butter-Chp-5-164738149) **HAPTER 5**  
  
"You mind telling just exactly what the  **fuck**  you think you're playing at?! Who is this man, Butters? And more to the point, why are you defending him?!"  
Malcolm's face was a picture of rage and shock, his slate-coloured eyes wide with fury. Fingers gripping the hilt of his broadsword hard enough to bruise, he had to   
call upon most of his self-restraint not to run it through the man who was clearly enjoying the attention of his little sister's hands just a little bit more than he should.  
  
"Put down your weapon, Malcolm. This man is no enemy of mine-"  
  
"The  **fuck**  he is! In case you haven't noticed, the bastard just tried to ambush us!" the elder warrior snarled, pointing the tip of his blade at the mercenerie's throat, arm quivering with a desperate, burning ache to slice it across his Adam's Apple. "You have exactly  **twenty seconds**  to explain your actions before I  **ventiltate**  you!"

  
The blonde assassin gulped, shrinking back into Butter's lap as he recoiled from the cold steel. An embattled smile pulled at the corners of his full, plump lips and as he rose unsteadily to his feet, he was all too aware of the many pairs of eyes scrutinizing his every move.  
  
"Well..!" he said sheepishly, his voice thick with a rich, purring Antivian accent; "...It would appear I have made a  **gross**  error of judgement!"  
  
"Whatever gave you that impression?" Alistair snapped sarcasticly, his own blade quivering in his hand. Like Malcolm, he too was put out by the close proximity in which Butters held the assassin.   
It was far too cosy, too close an embrace to bestown upon a stranger and as he watched her place a hand lightly on the Antivan's heavily-armoured shoulder to steady him, the young non-templar's heart lurched uncomfortably. She knew this man, alright. _Intimately_ , if her body language was anything to go by. 

  
She looked at him with an expression of both shock and relief, her teeth catching on her bottom lip as she took to chewing it out of nerves.  
  
"My humble apologies, good sir. If I had known you be friends of my dear  _Margerina_ , I would not have been so eager to end your lives...!" the assassin bowed his head low, shamed, his own hand reaching to rest upon Butters. He gave a gentle squeeze before dropping it once more to his hip. "Forgive me. I... had not anticipated on running into her again so soon-!"  
  
"It's alright, Zevran. Shit happens." Butters coughed awkwardly, forcing a lopsided grin.   
  
Acutely away of the expantant, questioning glares that burned deep into her very soul, she scruffed her feet nervously against the ground, fingers fidgetting as she tried to find the words to explain the situation. Her body still shook faintly with the shock of seeing the tall, tanned lothario again, her heart hammering uncomfortably against her ribcage as she met the apologetic look in those amber-coloured eyes.  _Maker's tits...! Of all the assassins in Antiva...!_  Exhaling slowly, Butters folded her arms over her chest and sat down on an overturned freight crate, weighted by remorse and fear.  
  
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she flapped her lips in exasperation, wondering just how much she should divulge about those two hazy months spent stumbling around Antiva in a catatonic stupour.  
  
Still raw and numbed from witnessing her lifelong home and sanctuary burn to the ground with all she held dear still trapped inside, the days and weeks that followed had been little more than a blur of shock, uncertainty and pure, crushing hopelessness. In the midst of her darkest moments, when the alcohol had worn off and exposed the raw nerves of her grief, she had taken to spending her days at the furthest edge of the city harbour, staring for hours into the black waves as she contemplated her own mortality.  
  
Watching as the waves broke against the sea-weathered pillars of the pier, she slowly cast aside her armour and the few possessions that had escaped with her from the fire.   
They meant nothing to her now, the memories behind them serving only to torment her with images of all she had lost rather than offer any comfort.   
  
One step was all it took.   
  
A split second between life and death.   
  
Plunging into that endless pool of black, she did not struggle once, even when the darkness filled her lungs and choked her of oxygen.  
With nothing left to live for, Butters had surrended, praying for Androste's forgiveness as she welcomed sweet oblivion beneath the waves. Yet, as the last of the air in her lungs fluttered away in a stream of tiny bubbles, the hands of fate pulled her back from the brink.

She awoke not long after to the feel of frantic lips against her own, forcing stale air into her body as rough, calloused hands pumped her chest with feverent urgency,cries of panic echoing faintly in her ears.  
  
 _"¡Respira! ¡Respira! Por el amor del Creador, respira!"_  he had cried, shaking her into consciousness as he forced her away from the Maker's pull.  
  
Her eyes snapped open abruptly, fetid water spilling forth from her mouth as the sweltering Antivian heat seered through her core. She coughed violently, fists hammering against the wooden slats of the pier as her epilogue was denied, wretched away so cruelly. As she screamed over the unfairness, those rough hands that had punched the life back into her heart with such determination slid over her shoulders, over the curve of her spine to pull her close. A shaking breath of soothing words tickled her ear and as she wrenched her head up to glare upon her rescuer, she saw him for the first time.  
  
His name was Zevran Aranai, formidable member of the fearsome Antivan Crows and the man personally responsible for saving her life.  
  
Butters chuckled bitterly at the sheer irony of the situation.   
  
 _Aren't assassins meant to take lives rather than give them back?_

* * *

  
  
Clearing his throat loudly, the man in question brushed imaginary lint from the front of his armour and lightly flipped his hair.  
"The name is Zevran. Zev to my friends." he said simply, a hand reaching to access the damage to his nose from Morrigan's swift kick. The health poultice had already kicked in with alarming swiftness to repair the break but heaven help him, it still didn't half-sting.   
  
"Who sent you?" Malcolm hissed, lowering his sword a millimetre as he tooked a large step forward, squaring up to the newcomer. He didn't like this one bit. Something stank to high heaven about the whole situation and it had nothing to do with the Rialto Steamer that Dogmeat had just dumped on a nearby corpse. Zevran winced, cracking the cartilage back into place and emitting a high-pitched gasp from the sudden sharp pain. Coughing, he cleared his throat and steadied himself, feeling woozy from a combination of battle fatique and the smell of viscara sizzling in the balmy morning heat.  
  
"A rather tacturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, I think his name was. Yes...that's it."  
  
"Idiot traitor." A cruel laugh escaped Malcolm's throat; "He is clearly under-estimating us if he thinks we can be felled by a stab-happy gang of glorified foot soliders." Taking another hunkering step forward, his blade pressed hard against the elf's throat, drawing forth a tiny trickle of blood as the sharp steel pierced his flesh. "Well, then. Your twenty seconds are up."

  
He drew back then, reading himself for the killing blow. Zevran winced, scrunching his eyes shut in dreaded anticipation.   
  
"No."  
  
"Step away from the elf, Butters."  
  
 **"No, Malcolm!"**  
  
Zevran cracked an eyelid.   
  
She was standing between him and the armoured brute, her arms outstetched with a look of staunch determination upon her round face. He couldn't help but let a dark chuckle breeze past his lips. Only a few weeks prior, she would've willingly thrown herself upon that fearsome sword, letting it penetrate her bosom before laying upon that cold steel, writhing in the throws of death.  
  
"I owe this man a huge debt of gratitude that must be repaid. If sparing his life is how I can absolve myself of it, so be it! But if you refuse to let him go free, then you can bloody well run me through because I will  **not**  yield to you, Malcolm!" Her voice was low, waivering ever so slightly as she glared intensely into the warden's wide, slate-coloured eyes. Turning towards the rest of his party, Malcolm cast them all an incredilous look, unabe to believe what he was hearing.  
  
"Have you _completely_ lost your mind?! I don't know what kind of twisted fantasties you let cloud your judgement, Butters, but I'm telling this- as your commander and your brother- any threat to your safety and that of us all must be  **erradicated**! If you think I am just going to drop everything and let him stroll out of this clearing alive, you are clearly deluded."  
  
"Then let him join us. If he is truly repentant for his mistakes, let Zevran redeem himself by fighting _with_ us rather than against." Butter's voice broke somewhat, pleading as she shielded the blonde elf from the enraged warden who was stalking dangerously close.   
  
Malcolm gripped her forearm tightly, the steel rivets of his gauntlets biting into the bare flesh; "I said no, you mad woman. The first chance he gets, he'll slit all our throats while we sleep!"  
  
Turning to cast Zevran a helpless look, Butters gritted her teeth as she dropped her hands to her side, clearly worn down by her brother's feverant protests.

"Please... everyone deserves a second chance."She stretched one arm out before her, resting her fingertips on Malcolm's chest as he hulked forward with a murderous look in his eyes. "He saved my life so now I must save his. Please, Malcolm. Just grant me this..."  
  
Frowning, Alistair stepped between the warring siblings, his expression unreadable. She spoke of the elf so passionatly that he couldn't help feel a sharp sting of jealousy in his gut. He gritted his teeth against the feelings of betrayal that surged in him.  
  
 _I would be willing to pursue this..._ she had told him only days ago, her breath ragged and face flushed with passion from their energetic kisses. She had sounded so sincere, so enamoured by him that Alistair had been wholy taken in. Now, however, as he stood in that blood-drenched clearing watching Butters defending the handsome stranger with a passion that bellied her unassuming frame, he could see her for who she truly was:  
  
A manipulative, adulterous shrew.  
  
And yet, as much anger as Alistair felt then, he couldn't shut out the cold, hard truth in his thoughts.

  
 _You never laid claims to her, Alistair. All you had was one drunken night, one moment of madness. She barely swoons for another man and you play the scorned lover.You don't know her. You didn't even make the_ _ **effort**_ _to know her. You just lay in your tent night after night sullying your bedclothes with useless buckets of salt._  
  
"You are...certain he's not going to stab us in the back?" he said pointedly, his eyes boring a hole into her. Butters flinched but nodded.  
  
"I trust Zevran with my life, Alistair. You may not understand but prehaps... in time..."  
  
"Why are we still discussing this?" Morrigan sniffed, arching ropes of electricity dancing in her palms as her scant patience grew thinner by the minute; "The man is clearly marked for death. Let us cut out the middle man and be done with it already!"  
  
"Butters defends him so fiercely;" Leliana interjected, scowling at the malicifor; "Would you grant it fair to kill a man who clearly means so much to her?"  
  
 **"Enough!"** Malcolm yelled, loud enough to send birds scattering from the trees. His burly fingers wound tightly around his sister's wrist as he leaned into her, his brow low in a fearsome glower.

  
"If it is what you wish..." his voice dropped an octive, giving him an air of menace; "...then I will _not_ entertain you when you crawl to my tent bloodied and weeping from an mortal wound."  
  
Throwing his shield down in utmost disgust, the elder warden grunted in agitation and stalked further up the path, the rage radiating off him so strongly that the grass seemed almost to bend out of fear. For the first time in her life, Butters could almost pity the darkspawn.  
  
Exhaling deeply, Zevran brushed down his armour and retrieved his daggers from where they had fallen behind a boulder. Resheathing them once more on his back, he slowed his steps to walk at a leisurable pace, one hand nestled lightly on Butter's hip as he drew her close.  
  
"It is good to see you still have much fight left in you, _mi corizon_."his voice was a gentle whisper against her ear. Once, not too long ago, it had felt hot and husky upon her skin, his seductive accent coaxing from her deep sighs of longing. Today, however, it only further served to amplify the guilt that resonated within her.   
  
She did not respond to his sweet words, too focused was her olive gaze upon the non-templar in the group. Alistair cut a morose figure as he slinked away from the battlefield, his shoulders weighted with tension as he fought internally with his emotions. His chocolate-coloured eyes narrowed darkly as they caught her gaze- a look filled with pain, revulsion, regret and rage, all rolled together in a single withering glare.  
  
"Alistair..." Butters started, her voice croaking as she struggled to fight back the remorse.   
  
She had not meant this to happen.   
  
Not by a long shot.   
  
Having travelled to Ferelden with one singular goal in mind, her last words to Zevran had held a tone of finality about them. She had been the one to curtail any notions of a relationship between them, too clouded by her own pain to give it the attention it deserved among all the dark thoughts that swirled in her brain. Even so, she did not deny herself the pleasure of his company in those dark, empty days that followed her timely rescue.  
He had lavished her with affection, easing the burden from her shoulders piece by piece until she could at least breathe easily again.   
  
Yet for all the pleasure his company brought her, Butters knew it couldn't last any longer than it did. Giving no thought to the possibility of ever seeing him again once she waved him off at the port of Antiva City, the raven-haired rogue was thrown for a loop over his sudden reappearance.   
  
The situation was further complicated when she thought of how Alistair might react to all this.  
She could tell he wasn't impressed to say the least, judging by the harshness of his scowl. The knot in her stomach tightened further and her shoulders tensed as she mused on the pain she had no doubt caused him by defending the elf so venomantly.  
  
Maker only knew what he could be thinking. Swallowing the lump of regret that left a foul taste in the back of her throat, she walked mutedly along the path to Denerim, actively avoiding the non-templar's haughty glare.  
  
Zevran could sense her unease, holding her as close as he did. Her entire body knotted with tension, making her slouch awkwardly and carry herself in a manner that seemed to age her by a decade or two. Sliding his arm around her waist, the elf turned her towards him, his dark gaze finding hers as his free hand moved to caress the swell of her left cheek.  
  
"My presence troubles you...?" It was more a statement than a question. Against her better judgement, Butters found herself arching into the tender touch, her eyes fluttering shut for just a moment as she savored the heat radiating from his athletic build.  
  
"Of all the men Loghain could've hired, why did it have to be you..?" she whispered, her olive eyes glazing with the ghost of frustrated tears. Chuckling softly in his throat, Zevran brushed at them with his thumb, his fingers lightly caressing the short locks of ebony that fell in her face.  
  
"Why else? I am the best at what I do."  
  
"If that's the case, why am I still alive?"  
  
He tilted her chin up, his smile dropping into a serious expression. "Still harbouring a wish for a swift death, hmm? As long as I'm still breathing, I will not let you throw your life away so wrecklessly. Besides;" he stole a glance at the back of Malcolm's head; "It appears remnants of your old life still survive. Come. _Smile_. That dour expression does not suit your pretty face."  
  
"Zevran..." her hand closed over his, reluctant to pull it away; "...I...I don't know what to make of this."

  
"Make of what, my dear?" he said simply, his thumb running over the plump roundness of her quivering lip. "We simply pick up where we left off."  
  
"It's not that simple.." the raven haired rogue murmured, her eyes falling upon Alistair as he walked further ahead, his back a hard, taunt line beneath his splintmail armour.

Honey-gold eyes followed her gaze before glinting with understanding. Zevran nodded once, sliding his hand down to rest upon her shoulder.   
"Very well." He raised her hand to his lips and lightly kissed the knuckles; "If it is your wish to forgo our little affair, I will not protest."  
  
"It's not that I'm not delighted to see you, Zevran. I just... I'm going through some crazy shit right now and-"she simpered, only to be stopped short by a single finger resting upon her mouth.  
  
"Ssh. Do not swear,  _senorita_. It is most unbecoming of a woman of your splendor."  
  
She mumbled a weak protest but he simply laughed, a light, breezy sound as he slid his hand down to her wrist, a featherlite caress before cupping it in his own as they joined the others.

  
"So, my dear. Where are we headed?"  
  
"D-Denerim..."  
  
"Ahh, home of the fabled Wonders of Thedas-or so I'm told! Come, come! I must see this land of wonderment with my own eyes!" he said jovially, pulling her along as he quickened his pace.  
  
Butters refused to look at him, refused to meet that steely gaze. Curse him. He always knew exactly how to aim for her tender parts and make her heart flutter.   
  
 _Curse you, you shameless Antivan manwhore...!_

* * *

  
  
  
"Say, Alistair? Didn't you mention something about wishing to visit your sister?" Leliana asked inquistively, casting the young warrior a side-long glance as the party finally happened upon the city gates sometime around late afternoon.

  
Head jolting as he was startled out of his dark musings, a flash of pink coloured his cheeks as he glanced upon the red-haired bard.  
  
"Oh, you mean Goldana?" he said with surprise, trying to keep his voice light and cheerful despite his inner turmoil. "Y-Yes, I seem to recall something to that effect. Granted, she's not  **really**  my sister-"  
  
"Oh, thank fuck for that!" Malcolm gasped in an overly sarcastic display of delight; "The sovereign stops with your dubious genetics! Promise me you'll never inflict the blight of your sure-to-be-retarded children onto the world! I much doubt it could take any more of your idiocy-"  
  
"Go die in a fire, Malcolm! Seriously!" Alistair snapped, teeth gritted as he glared daggers at the elder warden, his patience all but shattered. Taken aback somewhat by the malice in the non-templar's normally annoyingly perky voice, Malcolm blinked once in surprise before emitting a cruel chuckle.  
  
"You should be so lucky!"  
  
"You have a sister, Alistair?" Butters offered timidly, wary of his reaction. He rounded on her swiftly, his lips pressed into a hard, thin line. "What's it to  **you**?" he said curtly, barely able to contain his agitation as he glanced between her and the assassin who gripped her hand so delicately.  
  
The sheer sight of that simple gesture was enough to make Alistair want to run his sword clean through the blasted elf. All throughout the short trek to the gates, he had to watch them walk hand-in-hand, whispering sweet nothings to each other in hushed Antivan, Butters' breathy laughter cutting through him like a knife.  
  
The intensity of his jealous rage scared Alistair. It was an alien sensation, unlike anything he'd felt before in his twenty short years of life. The bile that tainted the back of his mouth greatly unnerved him, the taste lingering upon his tongue as he failed to hold back a cutting jibe or thinly veiled insult.  
  
This wasn't him. This wasn't how a pure and pious Chantry-raised boy was supposed to act.

  
 _Ahh, but you're not as pure as you'd like to be, hmm?_  An evil voice chuckled darkly in his head;  _Not anymore. She made damn sure of that._  
  
Jaw aching as his teeth gritted even further, the young blonde warrior tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, silently willing himself not to give into his more murderous urges. Maker knew Butters certainly wouldn't appreciate the act. 

 _Gods, look at what you've done to me, woman!_ He mused scathingly, his brows furrowing darkly as his eyes burned into her;  _Making me hesitate, trapping me between feelings of love and loathing! If you just looked into my eyes, truly looked, you might steal a glimpse of the tension, of the pain you inflicted the moment you cast your doeful eyes asunder._

  
Alistair glanced briefly to Zevran, his mouth crinkling in a sneer.  _What does he have that I don't_  He thought ruefully, looking down the edge of his nose.  _Is it the accent? I bet it's the accent! That stupid, hammy voice he uses to ensnare her with sweet nothings! Or maybe it's the hair? Yes, maybe she likes her men a good deal girlier than herself? Or is it something more? Something hidden by his armour...?_  His over-active imagination went into overdrive, an angry flush taking him them as his face ached with heat.

He scrunched his eyes shut, a hand reaching to rub his temples.  _Urgh! Maker help me!_  
  
"You seem most tense, Alistair..." Zevran said airly, thumbing his lip as he contemplated the younger of the two wardens in his midst, a wolfish grin crossing his face; "Perhaps you might beeifit from one of my world-famous massages, no?"  
  
"Touch me and you'll be pulling back a bloody stump."  
  
"Ahh, such fire in you. I wonder if it extends to the bedroom!" Zevran chuckled heartily, playfully ribbing Butters with his elbow as his grin widened; "I can see now why you're so taken with him, my dear! I can tell by his tone he would be a most  **passionate**  lover, no?"  
  
His voice loud as a bell, it was invitible that Malcolm's ears pricked up.

Shooting a glance over his armoured shoulder to where his sister stood red-faced as she slapped a hand over the elf's traitorous mouth, the elder warden snorted with a mixture of disgust and amusement. "Ha. I doubt he'd even know what to do with you if he was lucky enough to get the chance! Idiot templar can't even look a pretty girl in the eye without twitching like an epileptic in a thunderstorm!" Shaking his head, his stony gaze turned to Alistair, the corners of his mouth turning down in warning.

  
"Even so, don't think I don't have my eye on you.  **Both**  of you." he turned once more to face Butters, arms folded across his broad chest. "There's to be no funny business. Not on my watch."  
  
"Why are looking at  **me**  when you say that?!" she gasped, voice rising a few octaves as her face burned with indignity. Malcolm let out a raspy chuckle, ruffling the ebony locks of her hair none-too-gently.  
  
"Simple. You are Lady Butters Cousland, teryna of Highever and defiler of virgins! Don't think I'm not wise to the shenanagans you got up to behind the stables in your hormonaly-charged adolescence." his eyes were wide but his mouth was fixed in a position caught between a smile and a grimace. "I'm surprised such a fat, useless lump like yourself got so much action!"  
  
" _Oh, sweet Maker!_ " Butters shrunk into herself, mortified as she clamped her hands to her ears. "I'm not listening! Lalalala! Nope!"  
  
Zevran cackled loudly, joining in with the elder warden as they revilled in the young rogue's embarrassment. Only one other person did not find the situation at all funny and his deep brown eyes were fixed intently on the scorned woman at the centre of the roasting. Alistair felt the knot of anger tighten further in his stomach as he listened to the sordid tails tumbling forth from Malcolm's mouth.  
  
It would seem he was not the first lamb she had sacrified to appease her urges.  
  
There had been more men before he came along- a dozen or so before he stopped counting and turned his ears away.   
  
Alistair wondered then if she thought him little more than a tumble in the hay, a quick fumble to chase away the cold, lonely night before moving on to the next willing victim. The young blonde watched her with his jaw fixed in a mirthless smile. She was squirming against the revelations, her face twisted into a humiliated grimace as she smacked wildly at her brother, beggining him to stop airing her dirty laundry.  
  
"Alis-taaaaiiirr...!" Butters drew his name out in a low whine, pulling him from his reverie as her eyes shot him a pleading look. "Make him stop!"  
  
A snort escaped him, that humourless smile widening. "You're on your own,  **Butters**." he weighted her name with ill-disguised contempt and as he strode past her in the direction of the market square, the last thing he saw from the corner of his eyes was a single tear of anguish rolling down her plump cheek.  
Guilty knotted between his brows but he shook it away, determination in his steps as he strode off in a huff.  
  
Watching the display with a curious look, Morrigan stroked her chin in contemplation.  
"What on Earth has gotten into him? Did the dog eat the last of his cheddar or something?" she said sardonicly, quirking one dark eyebrow as she looked to her lover for an answer.  
  
Shrugging his shoulders, Malcolm rubbed his nose lightly before swinging an arm around her shoulders. "I could pretend to care but it would be far too much effort. Come along, my little spitfire. I believe I promised you a shiny new trinket to adorn that beautiful neck of yours."  
  
"Mmm. Shiny things...!" the witch purred, leaning in to plant a hot kiss on the warden before they too headed off in the direction of the town square, leaving Butters to stand rooted to the spot of that uneven, cobbled path.   
  
Bereft and humiliated from Malcolm's relentless jibes about her promiscuous youth, her hands clenched into fists by her side, knuckles turning white as she fought an internal battle with herself. Part of her was guilt-stricken from seeing Alistair so pained and tainted by jealousy, yet another part was aflame with anger, wanting to smack him upside the head and yell for him to grow up and stop acting like a scorned lover.  
  
Another part-bigger than the rest, however, scolded her actions and rained shame down upon her as it conjurred up images of that breathless conversation in camp. She had given him false hope, peppering him with loaded kisses and drawing him in with a promise she worried she might not keep.  
  
Yet in spite of knowingly leading him astray, the need still lingered. Butters had startled herself when she'd first jumped to conclusions-when she saw the non-templar cosying up to Leliana so soon after their little daliance. Something about seeing him with another woman stroked a spark of fury within her and whilst she had since calmed after he stammered his way through an innocent explaination, her stomach churned painfully at the thought of letting him go.  
  
 _But I barely know him. He is little more than a stranger with a lingering touch..._  she thought quietly to herself, chewing her lip;  _...Yet I find myself wanting to reach out and brush away the pain. The pain I caused him when I claimed that which wasn't mine to take. Oh, blessed Androste. Tell me what to do for I am at a loss...!  
  
"Margerina?"_  
  
She jumped at the sound of that smooth accent, eyes snapping up to peer into a pair of glistening topaz.  "Ahh, Zevran! Is there something you need?" she gasped, flustered.  
  
The corners of those plump, luscious lips pulled into an impish grin, his eyes trailing over her scantly-clad figure in a way that made her blush. "Mmm, indeed there is, my dear but I doubt you are in a position to give it to me if your troubled expression is anything to go by. May I ask what it is that taints your pretty smile so?"  
  
"Ahh.. Alistair..." The name fluttered from her lips like a dirty word. Her blush deepened, eyes averting from the Antivan's gaze but he pre-empted her coitish aversion, curling rough fingers under her chin and forcing her gaze to connect with his own.  
  
Though his smile was comforting, she knew from the look in his eyes that he was conflicted.  _Just forget about me, Zev._  She silently pleaded, her eyes hazing with helpless tears;  _Forget the last two months ever happened and just let me go. Please. Before I lose myself completly._  
  
"Go to him." he whispered, as if he'd just read her mind. "Comfort him in the only way you know how."  
  
"Zevran, I-!"  
  
He silenced her with a light tutting noise, his fingers curling to stroke at the place where jaw met neck. She whimpered, eyes veiling as she fought against the ripple in her spine. He knew every single inch of her, all her ticklish spots and the ones that made her gasp at the slightest touch. Curse him.  
  
"Sssh,  _mi corizon_. I do not wish to come between you.." he said softly before swiftly removing his hand from her flushed skin. Zevran looked almost embarrassed then, his hand moving to rake through his hair as his smile turned to a smirk. "That is... unless you  **want**  me to!"  
  
She smacked him lightly in the chest.  
"Always the pervert...!"

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, maybe one more tonight since I'm feeling generous...  
> Here there be angst, fair warning! Also, some Morrigan bashing. I DO love her though but yes, the witch is a straight up bitch at times so if you're not into reading about acrimonious interactions between her and my Warden, this chapter might not be one for you... hmmm. Can't please everyone...
> 
> Enjoy none the less!

**CHAPTER SIX**  
  
Alistair walked aimlessly through the bustling market square, not caring where his feet might take him. All he wanted was to get away from her, to remove himself from her presence should he be overcome by the urge to scream blue murder.  
  
He _hated_ this- this crushing jealousy that held his heart in a vice grip and refused to let it go. He wanted to shut it out, to numb himself to the pain but he could find no relief other than to mindlessly kick at a wayward rock in the road.   
It skittered into the gutter with a low clatter and as he watched the festering, inky-black sewage envelope the smooth stone, he smiled wistfully at the cruel metaphor for his heart.  
  
His brain implored him to see reason, to turn back, confront her and demand an explanation as to why she fawned over the assassin so openly.   
  
He had to know what that night meant-if she was truly besotted by him or simply filling his head with empty promises. A hot growl forced its' way through his gritted teeth and Alistair felt the rage bubble under his skin. He needed to get it out-to inflict some major pain on a hapless darkspawn before he did something monumentally stupid-  
  
_"Alistair!"_  
  
His growl rose in volume, the sound buzzing through his head as he quickened his pace, ignoring the insistent tone of her voice as he called out for him.   
He set off in a run, shoving past the throng of traders, merchants and denizens of Denerim as he raced to escape, hot tears of fury blurring his vision. His heavy spintmail clattered with every rushed moment, every furious footfall on the cobblestones until the noise consumed him.  
  
"Alistaaaiiir!" her voice was louder now, frantic as it moved even closer.  
  
" **Get away from me!** " he practically shrieked, shoving past a rotund Dwarvian woman as he fled into a narrow alleyway behind the Chantry.   
  
_Bollocks!_  He cursed inwardly, glaring darkly at the high wall that greeted him. A dead end. Panting hard, he pressed his fingertips against the jagged stones, praying this last obstacle would melt away before him.   
When he felt that harsh, cold solidity beneath his fingers, he let out an anguished cry, balling his hand into a fist and pounding it hard enough against the masonry to put a dent in his gauntlets. Something snapped horribly beneath the thick gloves and a surge of liquid pain rocketed up his arm, causing him to gasp at its' intensity.  
  
He fell against the wall, his forehead nestled against it as his free hand clutched the other in agony. He let a loud sob escape his lungs-heartache mixed with physical torture as his broken fingers burned intensely.   
  
Butters' hand was on his shoulder in an instant, her touch futile against his armour.  
"Please... please don't do this-!" she gasped, trying to turn him to her.   
  
He resisted, shrugging the hand off and curling in on himself as he slid down to the ground in a heap, hissing with pain. Curling her lip inwards in panic as she looked upon him, she spotted the blood that trickled from his balled up fist. Paling at the sight of it, she steeled herself against the queasiness evoked by the smell and slowly lowered herself down to his level, sucking in a breath.   
  
His face was a picture of rage, brown eyes wide and wild as they looked set to burn a hole clean through her.  
  
For the briefest of moments, the raven haired rogue was glad he was not a mage.

"You're hurt." she whispered, reaching out for his injured limb. Snatching it away, Alistair bared his teeth as he clenched his jaw, too enveloped by fury to even breathe, much less string a sentence together.   
  
Why couldn't she have just let him run? Let him pretend the last week was all a bad dream? Turning away from her heavy gaze, he scrunched his eyes shut, willing himself not to let the tears fall.  _No! Don't you dare!_  He mentally scolded, unscathed hand reaching to roughly rake across his face;  _Be a man! Men don't cry!_  
  
"I'm sorry." Butter's voice was a timid whisper as she hunched before him. Despite his attempts to shrug her off, she managed to cup his jaw in both hands, turning him gently toward her.   
  
Alistair refused to look at her, eyes clenching tighter until he felt as though a vein might pop in his forehead. Her fingers stroked him lightly, catching on the stubble speckled across his face as she tried to comfort him.  
  
"I never meant to cause you any pain, Alistair." she leaned forward, her hands winding around his neck. Cursing himself, his body arched into her against his cruel intentions and he found himself breathing in the scent of her hair. A groan left him, frustration making him quiver as he buried his nose against those short, wispy strands of black.  
  
"What was I to you?" he choked out, his voice a growl against her ear.   
  
Butters flinched slightly but did not pull away. She bit her lip, forcing back her own tears of agitation as she slowly moved to meet his gaze. 

  
"Just another notch on your tent post?"  
  
"N-no, Alistair! It's not like that at all! I.. I _meant_ it when I said I wanted to be with you. Please believe me-!"  
  
"How can I?!" he gasped against her, rolling his head back as he slumped against the wall, strength leaving him in droves as he began to quiver with the sorrow he longed to suppress.   
"How can I possibly believe you when I see you batting your eyes at another man? I know that what we-what we shared that night was...was utter madness but I thought that maybe if I said something... if I offered myself to you-!" he inhaled loudly, the breath rattling his lungs as he raked his free hand through his hair; "The way you look at him! At a man who damn nearly _killed_ us all! What could possibly drive you into the arms of a mad-man?!"  
  
Butters swept her fingers over the sharp angle of his jaw, brushing over his lips as she contemplated on his words. Were she to attempt a kiss, he'd no doubt rip her tongue out with one swift bite if his furious expression was any indication. Sighing deeply, she pulled away and sat cross-legged before him, her hands slumping in her lap.   
  
"It was before I met you, Alistair. Before that night... before we smashed into each other like stars colliding..." Her olive eyes turned downward, unable to meet his scrutinizing glare.

Focusing them instead on the bloody, ragged hand he clutched to his chest, she bit back the taste of bile and swallowed awkwardly.   
  
"Yes, Zevran and I were lovers.  **Were.**  He was the one to care for me when I fled to Antiva, the one who held me when sleep served only to remind me of that hellish night in Highever. He got me through a dark, desperate period of my life and while a great deal of affection still lingers between us, that ship has long since sailed, Alistair. You may not approve of me being so close with him but I can't simply cut him out to appease your jealousy. I owe him much-so much more than you can fathom-and for that reason, I begged that he be spared."  
  
"I just..." Alistair's voice was softer now, crackling as his resolve began to crumble; "...I just... Gods, look at the state of me. I barely know who you are and I'm acting like such a fool. Was it too much to ask that the woman I finally  **..made it**  with be one who could love me? One who didn't come with strings attached?"  
  
Butters chuckled bitterly, brushing a hand lightly against his knee.   
"No-one's perfect, Alistair. We all have burdens to bare-some more-so than others."  
  
"I'm... I'm so sorry, Butters. This isn't like me. I-I'm not the jealous sort. Or the kind to fall into bed with a complete stranger for that matter. I just..." he pinched his bridge tightly between finger and thumb, exhaling sharply; "...Since that night, I've been going crazy with longing. Crazy for _you_. When you're near me, I feel like my head's going to explode! I can hardly think straight-!"  
  
"I know. I've heard you in camp at night. Such wondrous noises you make."she said, forcing an impish smile.  
  
His face burned with a hot blush, his eyes-if possible-widening further.   
"M-Maker! I was trying so hard to be quiet-!"  
  
She chuckled softly, leaning into him once more to embrace his neck. Nuzzling her cheek against his, her hands found the wispy blonde locks at the base of his skull and as she stroked him soothingly, she could feel his shoulders slacken and relax, his rage slowly ebbing away.   
  
"Nothing gets by me, Alistair. Hey." she turned, gently ghosting her lips over his.   
"I know I acted like a promiscuous little school-girl around the assassin but I give you my word-it is _over_ between him and I. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I'll do my damnedest to make it so I never had to see you so stricken ever again."  
  
"Don't say it unless you mean it." he muttered, wincing as the last shreds of his self-control were tested to the limit by the taste of her lips. He wanted so much to arch forward and deepen it but his bruised ego stopped him, pulling him back from the edge of madness. She stiffened slightly, edging back to look upon him with a pained smile.  
  
"If that is what you desire." she pursed her lips slightly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her eyes.   
  
"Fair enough..." Alistair mumbled feebly, slowly rising to his feet. She followed him up, her hands moving to his shoulder to steady him as he swayed forward slightly, his vengeful energy evaporating to leave him feeling weakened. Sliding her hands over his chest-plate, Butters trailed her fingers down to his bloodied fist.  
  
Alistair hissed sharply through his teeth, the pain which had just dulled suddenly flaring hard enough to force a curse from his lips. " ** _Fuck...!_** "  
  
"That's what you get from punching walls with a hastily made fist. In future, don't curl your thumb into your palm." she said matter-of-factly, unable to help the wry chuckle as he cast her a withering look.

He cleared his throat roughly and curled his bloodied hand once more against his chest, extending the clean one before him. His brown eyes appeared to soften, returning some of the boyish charm Butters had found herself so captivated by that faithful day in the forest.  
  
"By the Creators, I've gone about this all the wrong way. Lets just start over, shall we? I believe a proper introduction is in order." he stated clearly, nerves calming enough to allow him to force a weak smile. "My name's Alistair. I have a love of fine wine and cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair."  
  
Butters chuckled softly, raising his hand to kiss his knuckles sweetly, her olive eyes piercing his. "Charmed. I'm Butters, defiler of virgins, lover of cheesecake and decadent chocolates and woefully bad at kareoke."  
  
"How do you do?" Alistair's voice was light but traces of irritation still lingered in his tone. She batted her lids languidly. It would be a while before they were back to making kissy faces at each other but for now, at least, the air had finally cleared. Cupping his unscathed hand in hers, she guided him towards the opening onto the street, her smile apologetic and demure as she spoke in a flustered, embarrassed tone.  
  
"G-good. Now, if we're at all done with the introductions and I can fix up that broken hand of yours, perhaps we can get a move on and skip straight into the hot make-up sex?"  
  
He groaned awkwardly, a grimace flashing across his face.   
"Butters...!"  
  
A chuckle sounded low in her throat.   
"Can't blame a gal for trying!"

* * *

  
  
  
"And where have  **you two**  been all this time?"  
  
Zevran's voice was weighted with innuendo, his smirk crocked as he watched the rogue and the non-templar emerge through the doorway of the tavern. Butters pouted at him, her expression clearly warding him off from making any snappy comments.   
  
Catching the flash of scarlet in the young blonde's hand, Leliana rushed to Alistair in three quick sprints, her blue eyes wide as she took his hand in hers, turning it over and inspecting the damage with a horrified expression.  
"By the Maker! What happened to you, Ali?!"  
  
He coughed slightly, unsure of whether or not he should divulge the details of his little strop. "I..uh.. tripped. Put my hand out to break my fall and... uhm.. ended up breaking most of my fingers."  
  
Leliana tutted loudly, her russet-coloured eyebrows furrowing at his injuries.   
"So clumsy! I swear, one of these days, I'm going to fashion you a suit of armour made entirely out of bubble wrap!"  
  
"Y'know, I'd actually pay good money for that, Lee. Mmmm. Bubble wrap. Hours of poppy fun!" he said cheerily, a wide grin pulling the corners of his lips.   
  
The red-haired bard studied him hard for a moment. There was no mirth in his eyes-it was an act, a façade. She knew fully well why he felt it necessary to hide behind a mask of joviality- he was covering his pain in a way she had grown to know all too well in the weeks spent travelling by his side. Brow furrowing, Leliana turned her haughty gaze to Butters and shook her head as a sigh rushed from her lungs.  
  
"I imploreyou to take better care of him in future." she said pointedly, easing her grip on the non-templar's hand; "If he keeps getting hurt in your company, he'll be about as useful against the Archdemon as a one-legged mabari!"  
  
"It was an accident, Leliana-" Butters started, confusion heavy on her features but she was cut short by the look the bard cast her. It was one of warning, of accusation and threat- one that the raven haired rogue knew all too well in her foolish youth.   
She grimaced and stared down at the floor, scuffing her feet awkwardly.   
  
"If you are to be a competent member of this party, I suggest you taking better care of your team mates-"  
  
"Lee! I think she gets the picture!" Alistair hoped his voice sounded mildly annoyed instead of incensed.   
  
The bard cast him a stern glare and tutted loudly, saying no more on the subject before heading off to the bar to replenish her wine glass. Seating herself next to Alistair as she flopped into one of the wicker chairs pulled up to the table, Butters drew her breath out as a deep, low sigh.   
  
Glancing around the room, her eyes searched for Malcolm among the throng of tavern patrons but she could see no sign of him. A frown pulled at her lips, arms folded over her chest.  
  
"I take it my  **darling**  brother is off boffing Morrigan again?" she said with ill-disguised disgust, grimacing as she remembered all too well the sounds of frantic lovemaking that kept her awake day and night whilst in camp. As if putting up with the amorous noises coming from her parent's bed-chambers wasn't enough to make her nauseous.   
  
A wistful chuckle escaped her at that. If only those walls could've spoken! What tales they might've woven...  
  
"Nooo, we were simply busying ourselves knitting socks for babies and rescuing cats from trees." the witch's voice was low and sarcastic as she sauntered over to the little group from the bar, a glass of house red in one hand, a large cloth bundle in the other. Caustic as always, she whipped the bundle at the young rogue with a well-practices flick of the wrist, smacking her hard in the face. Butters gave a loud yell of alarm, arms flailing wildly.  
  
"Oww! Jeez!"she squealed, rubbing her cheeks as her olive eyes glared ruefully at the smirking witch. "What was that for?!"  
  
"A  **pretty**  new frock for a  **pretty**  little lady." Morrigan sneered, her tone condescending as she ran her fingers along the lip of her wine glass, a vision of malice and mischief.  
  
Muttering something most unladylike in hushed Antivan, Butters raised her fingers to the simple white ribbon that bound the cloth in a neat little bundle.   
Her stomach dropped. Hidden among the folds of light tan linen was a square of mustard-coloured cotton.  
  
_Yellow. Typical...!_  
  
"This is a joke, right?" Butters said pointedly, fluffing out the shapeless, garish-looking tent that supposedly doubled as a dress. The malicifor chuckled darkly, taking a satisfied swig from her wine as she leaned against the bar, her cat-like eyes narrowed upon the younger woman.  
  
"Such a lovely colour for you! I dare say it would have you outshine the sun itself."  
  
"Yes, yes. I'm fat. No need to sugar-coat it..." Butters grumbled,  her murderous glare now directed at the wads of fabric pooling in her lap. It was bad enough the conservative design would make even a Chantry sister look whorish but the fact that it was such a horrendous, unflattering shade of yellow-the one colour guaranteed to make her look perfectly spherical- was enough to make the raven haired woman want to introduce Morrigan to the business end of a broadsword.  
  
Taking the dress from her, Alistair spread it out before him, a bemused look upon his face. "It's not that bad, Butters! A little.. ahh, roomy, perhaps?"  
  
"If you think I'm going to go out in public wearing such a disgusting colour, you are most mistaken! I'd rather go naked!"  
  
"Oooh, now I'd pay good money to see that!" Zevran cooed, earning a beermat to the head for his troubles.  
  
"You speak as though you've never had the pleasure, Zevran-!" Morrigan drawled, only to yell in alarm as a wooden ashtray narrowly missed her head.  
  
"Go fuck a duck, Morrigan!" Butters yelled angrily; "Stop sticking that crooked nose of yours into business that's not your own!"  
  
"My nose is  **not**  crooked!"  
  
"Actually..." Alistair touched his lip in thought, a smirk forming; "...Now that you mention it, I  **do**  see a resemblance between you and Flemeth, my dear! Yes! You have her nose...and her wicked tongue, for that matter."  
  
For a brief moment, Morrigan appeared to have taken on the appearance of a wild cat. Her hackles raised, her hair practically bristled and her cheeks puffed with fury. White sparks crackled ominously around her figure, rippling over the taunt flesh of her hands as they clenched into fists by her sides.  
  
"Alistair..." she hissed, the words rasping through her teeth;   
"...May your left testicle wither and fall out of your right trouser leg!"  
  
The non-templar's smirk instantly dropped, blood draining from his face as he crossed his legs instinctively. Shooting a horrified glance between Butters and Zevran, he shrunk back into his seat.   
  
"Leave my giblets out of this!" he managed to squeak.   
  
Rolling her eyes, the youngest of the two women in the group leaned back in her chair and snorted with mocking laughter.  
  
"Just try it, Morrigan. Lay a finger on him and I'll see to it the Archdemon is the very  **least**  of your worries."  
  
"Oh, what are you going to do?  **Sit**  on me? Ha! Your threats are just like your over-sized skull- completely empty!"   
  
"Oooh, me-oow!" Zevran purred playfully, making a clawing gesture.  
  
"Shut it, Zev." Butters snapped, her eyes narrowing as she kept her gaze upon the haughty witch before her;"You can drop the touch-chick act, Morrigan. I know your type all too well-your lot are a dim a dozen in Highever. I wager its' only a matter of time before my brother cops onto himself and sees you for the  heartless shrew you  **really**  are."   
  
Smirking as she watched Morrigan's lip curl into a vicious snarl, the young rogue chuckled mirthlessly; "What's the matter? Mother didn't hug you enough as a child? She didn't buy you that pony you wanted for your sixteenth birthday, hmm? What is-"  
  
"At least I still  **have**  a mother-!"  
  
Knuckles clenched around the edge of the table, Butters scrapped her chair back sharply as she swiftly rose to her feet.   
  
Edging towards the witch, she squared up to the older woman until their noses practically touched. Fingers fisting the scarlet cowl that barely concealed Morrigan's sizable "assets", the rage in Butter's voice was plain for all to hear as she gritted out each word.  
  
"Don't. You. Ever. Talk. About. My. Mother.  **Bitch.** "  
  
The malicifor smirked wickedly, her talon-like fingers brushing Butters as they seeked to pry her away.   
"Oh-ho? Did I touch upon a raw nerve? Insipid woman. I care not for your losses. My only grievance is that you did not perish with them als-"  
  
Morrigan barely had a chance to finish her cruel jibe when she felt the full force of Butter's hands curl around her neck.   
  
Unable to suppress her fury, the rogue clasped her hands tight enough to bruise, her eyes blazing with murderous rage as she flexed her hands and felt the witch gasp beneath her. Struggling against that crushing grip, Morrigan felt the back of her knees hit against the edge of a nearby table. Losing her balance, she fell on top of it, pulling Butters with her as her back smacked hard against the heavy wood.  
  
The rotund rogue was upon her with a swiftness that beggared her sizeable frame. Bracing her knees on the table, she bore down on the witch without mercy, teeth bared as she strove to choke every last ounce of oxygen from the witch's lungs.  
  
Alistair and Zevran screamed at her to ease off, to pull back from the vicious assault but their voices sounded far off and distant. Morrigan's sharp nails shredded at her bare arms but Butters was too incensed to care. She wanted to feel the dark-haired mage's last gasp, feel that delectable snap as her vertebrae crushed between her fingers.  
  
As she bore her whole weight down upon the witch's chest, hot tears blurred Butter's vision. She blinked against them, the image warping out of shape until all she could make out was Rendon Howe's face.   
  
An anguished scream surged through her then, ripping forth from her mouth as Morrigan struggled beneath her. Dark-painted nails dug into her shoulders hard enough to draw blood, crackling sparks burning into the skin but there was no pain- only pure, unadulterated hatred.  
  
"Howe... Howe, you fucking  **bastard...**!" she gasped, hands twisting around that slender neck. Morrigan rasped against it, the caustic smirk replaced by an expression seldom seen upon the witch's sharp features:  
  
Fear.  
  
Morrigan could feel herself getting light-headed from the lack of air but she struggled onward, somehow managing to curl a leg up just enough to get some leverage. With a breathless shriek, she summoned every last ounce of strength in her to kick the rogue off her.  
  
Stumbling backwards, Butters released her grip swiftly, arms flailing wildly before she twisted her ankle and crashed into a table full of dirty crockery, glasses and half-empty bottles of alcohol.  
  
"Y-you have..completely..lost..your..mind!" Morrigan crocked, eyes wide with incredibility as she clutched her bruised, aching throat with one hand, lightning crackling ominously in the other. Panting from the brutal force she had exerted upon the snivelling witch, Butters could only stare, wide-eyed from her place among the broken glasses and plates, too stunned by her own violent actions to speak.  
  
"What's going on here?!"  
  
Malcolm's gruff voice was as loud as a church bell, echoing starkly through the tavern that had swiftly fallen into stunned silence as the two women grappled. Dumping an armful of miscellaneous supplies on the nearest available table, the steel-plated juggernaut strode across the room, crouching down on his haunches before his sister.  
  
Seeing the rivules of blood trickling down her shoulders and across the exposed flesh of her legs, Malcolm shot a accusatory glance at Morrigan.   
"What did you  **do** , woman?!"  
  
" **Me?!** " Morrigan choked incredulously; "T'was your darling sibling that launched herself at my jugular! I'd have never thought it possible that such a snivelling, flabby, useless little lump would've had it in-"  
  
"Slow your tongue, wench, before I cut it out." the elder warden's voice dipped into a low hiss, slate-coloured eyes glinting with contempt; "I don't know what started this little tiff but it ends  **now**."  
  
"Malcolm, you can't poss-!" Morrigan yelled in anguish, rushing towards her lover as she tried to plead the case for her questionable 'innocence' in the matter. He was having none of it, though and instead roughly shoved her to the ground, his face a picture of disgust.  
  
"No. Shut up. I don't want to hear another word." he barked at her, hooking his arm through Butters' as he helped her get shakily to her feet. Dusting off the debris, he curled his arm protectively around her shoulders, glaring daggers at the witch.  
  
Throwing her hands up with a yell, Morrigan growled in agitation, turning swiftly on her heels to wrench the tavern door open none-too-gently.   
"Your foolish loyalties will be your undoing, Malcolm! That girl is nothing more than a hinderence, an emotional weight hung like a blasted noose around your neck. The sooner you cut her loose, all the better for you-!" she snarled bitterly before storming out of that little inn, her entire body all but combusting with anger.  
  
Breathing hard as her heart hammered painfully in her chest, Butters brushed a hand against her forehead, feeling heat burn against her skin. She was uncertain as to whether it was the witch's doing or if it was from the sheer intensity of her homicidal rage but at that moment, her entire body felt as though it might burst into white-hot flames.  
  
Shrugging off Malcolm's arm, she bowed her head low and pushed past him, heading towards the stairs that lead up to the small bedrooms taking up much of the first floor. Brows knitted with concern, Malcolm made a move to follow her but was held back by a small, deft hand upon his shoulder.  
  
"Let me handle this, dear warden." Zevran's voice was low and wary-clearly used to such displays of madness in women. "I have been privy to such outbursts on many occasions. You heard the name she uttered-she is still raw with the pain she longs to hide. Your..." he rolled out the word with a dubious tone; "... **girlfriend**  was the one to provoke her with venomous words. Please. I know better than anyone here how best to comfort her-"  
  
"Keep your dick in your pants, Zevran. You're going nowhere." Malcolm said curtly, swatting the elf's hand away and shoving him back into his seat. Shooting a glare in Alistair's direction, he let a breath rasp from his nostrils, jerking his head towards the stairs.  
  
"Alistair."  
  
"What, you want.. me.. to..?" the blonde man said in bewilderment, cocking a brow.  
  
"Better you than the perpetually horny elf. She.." Malcolm swallowed, clearly uncomfortable at the notion of soliciting the non-templar's help; "...she seems to trust you. Perhaps you can go calm her down?"  
  
"Uhh, okay.." Alistair frowned, scratching his chin as he considered the older man with concern; "...But you  **are**  her brother. Should'nt you be the one to lend her a shoulder to cry on?"  
  
"In case you haven't noticed, Alistair, I'm not exactly the model of brotherly love and affection."  
  
"I know.. but.. well, she seems _really_ upset. Surely you'd be better off-?"  
  
" **No** , Alistair." It was clear that Malcolm was swiftly losing patience. He pinched the bridge of his nose and flapped his lips in irritation. "I'll stay and guard ol' knife-ears. Hop to it... before she starts writing dodgy poetry in her own blood or something..."  
  
"If you insist.." Alistair mumbled, rising from his seat.   
  
Shaking his head, he bid a soft goodbye and headed for the stairs, the sound of a protesting Zevran and Malcolm's ill-tempered chiding fading into white noise as he ascendeded each creaking stair.   
  
Stepping onto the carpeted landing, he didn't have to search for Butter's room-a trail of bloodsplatters soaked a maroon streak in the light carpet, leading towards the door at the farthest end of the corridor.  
  
Swallowing back a lump in his throat, Alistair curled his good hand into a fist, raising it to knock on the dark wood. A crinkle appeared above his nose.   
  
What could he possibly say to her? He had certainly had his fair share of losses along the journey, no doubt about that. But Butters-and Malcolm too for that matter- had lost an entire family in one hellish night.

  
Leaning against the doorframe, Alistair rested his forehead against the grain and sighed deeply.  _Maker, give me strenght..._  he murmured, somwhow managing to lightly rap his knuckles on the door. It swung open at his touch, startling him slightly.   
  
Clearing his throat awkwardly, the young warrior stepped inside and shut the door behind him, not really sure what he expected to find within the small, wood-panelled room.  
  
Her back was to him at she sat upon the edge of the bed, clad in only her small clothes. A pained hiss escaped her as she took to yanking sizable glass shards from her legs with a pair of tweezers. Flecks of blood stained the bedsheets as she struggled to rid herself of the splinters and as Alistair cautiously crept closer to her, he could make out the sound of low sobs under her breath.  
  
"Butters.." he offered timidly, kneeling at the foot of the bed as he reached out to touch her shoulder.  
  
She flinched, startled by the intrusion and instinctively grabbed for a sheet to cover her modesty, her eyes the size of saucers as she peered at him with alarm.   
  
"A-Alistair! What're you-?!" she croaked, clutching the fabric to her chest.  
  
Prising the tweezers from her trembling hands, Alistair made a motion for her to place her legs in his lap. He couldn't trust himself to speak so instead, he took to dutifully cleaning her wounds, making sure no stray shards of glass were left stuck in her kneecap. He worked fast, grimacing at each whine and whimper that escaped her throat.  
  
Though he knew she was in pain, there was no helping the fact that those sounds served to remind him of-  
  
_Stop! Stop it, stupid libido!_  
  
"What're you doing here, Alistair..?" Butters hissed as he tackled a particularly stubborn splinter, her jaw aching as she gritted the words out. Not wishing to risk seeing her semi-clad form, Alistair kept his gaze focused on the battered flesh before him.  
  
"Malcolm sent me." he mumbled, calloused fingers brushing over the scrapes in a bid to offer some form of comfort. "He was worried about you... in his own little way, at least.."  
  
"Hrmm. " Butters bit her lip, toes curling as he worked out the last of the splinters."He never was the sensitive type.."  
  
Grabbing the first aid box from were it sat upon the nightstand, Alistair rummaged about for a needle and thread, unable to look at her.   
"Do you want to talk about it?" he whispered, settling the box next to his thigh as he rooted around among the gauze and health poultices.  
  
"I..." Butters grimaced, hitching the sheet further up her chest as she crossed her arms. "...You can't  **possibly**  know what I'm going through, Alistair. I appreciate the sentiment but it's okay. I'll be...fine-"  
  
"Butters." He dropped a timble into the box with a clatter, finally daring to look at her. Her face was shiny with tears, eyes rimmed with red and hair askew from where she'd no doubt tried to tear it out with agitation.   
  
"I _know_. Trust me." his heart lurched in his chest as he recalled the events of the past weeks, surprised by how raw the pain still felt deep within him; "...I too grieve for lost loved ones."  
  
She shifted slightly, moving from the edge of the bed to sprawl out fully against the mess of pillows that took up much of the space. Her hands clasped protectively over her bosom, she looked at him with helplessness in her eyes, chewing awkwardly on her lip as he quickly set to sewing up the worst of her lacerations.  
  
"Morrigan... she... is she alright?"  
  
"I wouldn't waste my energy worrying about that  **utter bitch**. She got what was coming to her, far as I can say. Granted, choking the life out of her  **was**  a bit excessive..."  
  
"You heard what she said. Would you have reacted any different?"  
  
"I wouldn't know..." Alistair said softly, bending to nip the excess thread away, instantly regretting it as his lips lightly brushed against her. He coughed awkwardly, composing himself and trying not to think about the taste of blood and salt on his lips; "...Never knew my own mother. Or my father, for that matter."  
  
He paused, wondering if he should divulge  **that**  particular fact about his parentage. Straightening up, he placed the first aid paraphenalia back into the box and set it down on the floor, flopping back against the bed as a wave of fatigue overcame him. Reaching to rub idly at the scab on his forehead from where she'd accidently-on-purpose smacked him in the face with a tent-pole, he cast her a side-long glance and smiled wistfully.  
  
"Many wardens fell at Ostagar... including one who meant more to me than the rest."  
  
"Tell me..." her voice was tiny, vulnerable and as she drew her knees to her chest, she appeared to the young blonde man to appear much younger than her twenty two years.

He nodded, patting her knee soothingly, rolling on his side and propping himself on his elbow.  
  
"His name was Duncan..." he said slowly, feeling a tightness long ignored pull at his heart; "...He was the closest thing I had to a father." the blonde swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "He...He was a good man. I miss him dearly.."  
  
"I'm sorry..." she whispered, leaning down to brush a few errant locks from his face. Catching her hand in his own, he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and lightly kissing her palm.  
"He died doing what he did best: fighting for what he believed in. I... I take a small bit of comfort in knowing that. Can I ask...about your family? About what happened that night?"  
  
Sucking in a breath, Butters raked a hand through her hair and leaned back against the headboard. She'd already poured her heart out to one man and whilst it gave her a great sense of comfort, it by no means diminished the pain of her loss. Alistair looked at her expectantly but didn't press her further on the subject and for that, she was grateful. Her fingers twitched in her lap as she trid to find the words that would best sum up that fateful night in Highever.  
  
Hellish.

Horrifying.

Traumatic.

Terrifying.

Heart-breaking.

Shocking.  
  
"What can I tell you? It was the worst night of my entire life." she said flatly, hugging her knees even closer. "Howe, he... my father trusted him so blindly. He-he betrayed us all for his own selfish gain. My entire family-mother, father...all senselessly murdered..." she trailed off then, hands flying to her face as she tried desperately to hold back the tears but instead found herself shuddering as her body became wracked by sobs of despair.  
  
"Come here..." Alistair whispered, pulling her down to him and holding her in a gentle embrace. Butters hiccoughed slightly, nestling her head against his chestplate as he held her with the lightest touch. Her body shivered as she tried to hold in her cries but it was too much effort on her part.  
  
"I should be in an unmarked grave..." she murmured against him, causing Alistair to cup her jaw and tilt her head upwards, his brown eyes casting her a meaningful gaze.  
  
"And yet, somehow you made it out of that hell on Earth." he said gently, his thumb ghosting over her bottom lip in  way that made her groan quietly; " You're alive for a reason, Butters. It's entirely up to you to figure out what that reason might be-" his words were cut off by one small, stubby finger against his mouth.  
  
"What If I don't want to find out?" she said, unable to hide the desperation in her voice. A fist thudded half-heartedly against his armoured chest as she let out a low groan. "Androste's flaming sword, Alistair! If I never met you, prehaps my mission would've succeeded-!"  
  
"And...and what mission would that be?" he whispered, holding her face with both hands now, worry etched upon his features.   
  
She was beginning to scare him now.  
  
"The whole reason I wished to come to Denerim was so I could sneak into the arl's chambers like a theif in the night. I would slit his throat with as much glee as he showed when he torched my ancestoral home-" she stated flatly, turning her gaze away from his wide brown eyes.  
  
"B-But... that's  **suicide**! The guards would have you drawn and quartered before you had a chance to draw your weapon!" he gasped, face draining of colour.  
  
"That's the whole point, Alistair. What do I have left to live for? Malcolm can get by just fine without me- he always makes a great show of that fact-so what other choice do I have?" The tears flowed freely down her face now, rolling past her cheeks to drip forth from her jaw.   
  
Aghast at what he'd just heard, Alistair tightened his grip on her, almost crushing her into his splintmail.  
  
"You  **have**  to live, Butters-!" he choked, startled by the desperation in his voice; "You can have your revenge and still go on to lead a good life. You would only be letting Howe win if you threw yourself so willingly onto his sword! Not to mention damning your soul for all eternity-!"  
  
At that, Butters turned away from him, groaning loudly as a hand reached to massage her temples.   
"Urgh, don't give me that fire-and-brimstone shit. I don't give a damn about anything the Maker has to say anymore."  
  
" _Butters, please.._." Alistair could feel the ghost of his own tears sting at the corner of his eyes as he spoke, his heart dropping painfully as the prospect of losing her ripped through his mind.   
Though he hadn't known her very long, he found himself hopelessly drawn to what he thought was a sunny demeanor but as he now saw the dark underbelly, he wanted nothing more than to protect her, to shield her from any further pain should she simply crumble to dust in his arms.  
  
"It doesn't matter anymore." she said with a note of dejection, resting once more against the blood-flecked mattress. "If I hadn't have met you...if we hadn't shared that night in the Brecillian forest, I might've been dead by now." she turned back to face him again, her hands finding his cheeks and caressing them soothingly.   
"For that, I'm grateful.." she rested her forehead against his, feeling a weight of exhaustion pull on her eyelids.  
  
"Promise me this;" Alistair said with staunch determination, nuzzling against her touch;"Promise me you'll never think of doing anything so _utterly wreckless_ as to storm the gates of the arl's estate."  
  
"I can't promise that, Alistair." there was a note of dark mischief in her voice, hoarse as it was; "I'm addicted to danger." she curled a leg over his, rubbing it languidly against his. He sighed and rested his face in the nape of her neck, shaking his head.  
  
"I'm serious, Butters. The thought of you throwing away your life in such a foolish way... I can't begin to fathom-!" once more, she cut him off with a single finger.  
  
"Enough. Let's not talk anymore.." she murmured, her lips pressed to his.  
  
  
For once, Alistair was lost for words...

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I could make a really dumb joke about licking lampposts...*cough*  
> Here there be smut! Not OVERTLY graphic but still...fair warning!

**CHAPTER SEVEN**  
  
Shuffling uncomfortably, Alistair inwardly cursed himself for falling asleep in his armor.

Muscles aching beneath the heavy splint-covered plates, he fumbled blindly at the ties of his chestplate, seeking to rid himself of its' sizable weight.   
As he raised a hand to thumb over the buckle near his collar, however, he was startled by the feel of warm flesh brushing his knuckles.  
  
"Allow me..." a husky voice purred through the darkness. A snap, then a chink and the weighty armour fell free of his body. Blinking, Alistair leaned into the touch as he rubbed his eyes and squinted through the dim light.  
  
"Butters...?" he mumbled groggily as unseen hands relieved him of his armor.  
  
"For you, baby, I  **could**  be..!"  
  
"Whu-Zevran?!" the blonde non-templar sprang off the bed like a shot, eyes wide with horror as he struggled to make out the figure of the amourous elf in the inky black of dusk.   
  
Feeling around on the bedside table, he managed to find a box of matches and after a few fumbled attempts, soon flooded the room with a soft orange glow as he lit the wick of the little parafin lamp atop the nightstand.  
  
The color drained from his face as his eyes fell upon the other man.  
"Androste's frilly knickers! Why are you  **naked**?!"  
  
"Why not?" Zevran said casually, reclining against the soft mattress as he moved to idly stroke his chest, a wry smirk upon his features. "The night is warm and I'm feeling lucky!"  
  
"What are you  **doing**  in here?! Where's Butters?!" Alistair squeaked, shielding his eyes with his bandaged hand as he tried not to let the image of a wantonly stark naked elf replace the cheese bandit in his nightmares.   
  
Rolling onto his stomach and crossing his legs in the air above him, the Antivan chuckled huskily, twirling a lock of bone-colored hair around his index.  
"She found it rather difficult to sleep, or so she said. Went out to take in a few lungfuls of dewy morning air. I kindly volenteered to to keep you company, my dear Warden." He licked his lips hungrily, propping his jaw in his hands as he blantantly undressed the young non-templar with his eyes.  
  
"Mmm. Such a cuddly sleeper! I can see why she's so fond of you!"  
  
"Get out of my  **room**!" Alistair shrieked, flinging a boot at him, his face cherry red with a mixture of indignity and embarrasment. The elf pouted, rolling his eyes but made no move to rise from his comfortable spot on the bed.   
Instead, he arched his back, cat-like, and flipped his hair over his shoulder.   
  
"Surely I could stay just a little while longer? I trust you would find my methods of persuasion most..." he purred out the word; "... **pleasurable!** "  
  
"OUT!"  
  
" _Un momento, por favor._ " The Antivian assassin curled his legs beneath him and scooted towards the edge of the bed, resting back on his arms as he cast Alistair a serious look. "I wish to speak with you before I take my leave-"  
  
"Can you  **please**  put some clothes on?!" Alistair blanched, feeling slightly ill. Whilst he was well used to seeing other men naked, having survived the trauma of a communal washroom in his Chantry-schooled youth, it certainly didn't mean he was in any way comfortable with seeing the blonde man sprawled out so leecheriously across the bed.  
  
"Urgh. You Fereldens are so prudish!" Zevran sighed, begrudingly covering his sizable modesty with a corner of the duvet. "We are both men here, Alistair! No need to be so shy!"  
  
"Say what you have to say then get the hell out!"  
  
"Very well. I wish to talk to you about fair  _Margerina._ "  
  
"Marger..." Alistair blinked for a moment, traces of droziness still lingering before he became fully aware of the elf's words. Clearing his throat, he folded his arms over his chest and frowned; "...Ah, you mean Butters. Yes, what about her?"  
  
"I've seen the way she looks at you..." Zevran's words were cautious, weighted with something akin to a threatening tone. 

  
"...I don't like it."  
  
A mirthless chuckle rumbled in Alistair's chest as he flopped into a nearby armchair, lip widening into a self-satisified smirk.   
"Oh? Jealous, are you?"  
  
"Of you, dear boy? Hardly. I only wish to convey a simple truth that you should be aware of." The elf stated clearly, cocking his head to the side to look pointedly at the younger man. "I was raised in a whorehouse, Alistair-"  
  
"Really? I'd never have had guessed...!"  
  
"-Surrounded by women who sold the _illusion_ of love for a pretty penny. I know a chancer when I see one. Whilst I am in no doubt that she holds you with great affection, know that I held her heart first and foremost. I..." the elf hesitated for a moment, raking long fingers through his silvery mane before exhaling sharply;   
"...I  _care_  deeply about her and do not wish to see her get hurt."  
  
Alistair coked a brow, his smile wanning somewhat.  
"Is this the part where you challenge me to a duel to vie for the lady's affections? Should we go down to the docks, then? Draw a line in the sand and take twenty paces before we bash each other's brains in?"  
  
Zevran chuckled throatily, batting his lashes at the non-templar.   
"Tempting as that prospect may be, I do not wish to fight you, Alistair. I simple ask that you guard her heart with the same determination you guard your own in the heat of battle. I spent many of my days slowly putting the pieces back together. T'would be a shame if it shattered once more."  
  
The ex-templar cast Zevran a look of consideration, taking in his words and mulling them over for a moment before he rose to his feet slowly.   
It was clear to him that whatever transpired between the two was far more than the fling he'd feared. There was love there beneath the flirting and the knowing glances-and judging by the seriousness of the elf's tone, it seemed he still held a candle to the raven haired young rogue.   
  
Swallowing awkwardly as doubt settled on his tongue, Alistair slowly approched the elf and extended his good hand.  
"You...you have my word. She'll come to no harm on my watch. I swear on all the cheese in Ferelden."  
  
Chuckling gently, Zevran clapped his hand over the blonde's, weaving a bewildering, overly-elaborate handshake that all but bruised most of Alistair's fingers. Rising from the bed, hardly batting an eyelid as the duvet fell free from his lithe frame, the silver-haired assassin brushed his hands lightly against the ex-templar's shoulder as he walked past.  
  
"Be good to her, Alistair..." there was the slightest hint of sadness in his voice but he hid it well; "...Or I shall see to it that ravenous crows peck out your eyes."  
  
Before Alistair could even utter a reply, he was gone, slinking out of the room as silent as a mouse. Shaking his head, the blonde man sat himself on the edge of the bed and rubbed a hand over his face before falling back against the soft coverings.  
  
 _Well!_  he thought, smiling wistfully;  _That wasn't awkward in the slightest...!_  
  


* * *

  
  
The market place was quiet in those tenative hours before dawn broke but it was by no means still.   
Several traders had already set up shop around the square, hoping to attract the attention of the insomniac crowd before the bustle truely began.   
  
As Butters walked idly through the street, she could feel her stomach grumbling with a vengence beneath the linen shirt she'd craftily 'borrowed' from Alistair's pack.  
It was loose around her frame, nipped in slightly by a large swath of tanned leather that often served her as a belt during her travels.   
  
Compared to the horrendous tent-like monstrosity procured by Malcolm and his sulking harpy, Butters felt far more comfortable in such simple garments.  
The balmy morning wind brushed her bare legs with a featherlite touch, though from time to time, she would hiss roughly as the air pulled the pain of her many scrapes to the surface.  
  
She wasn't entirely sure exactly what had woken her so suddenly from her turbulent sleep but as she had reluctantly distangled herself from the arms of the slumbering warrior by her side, Butters found herself startled by an all emcompassing longing for strawberries.  
  
As the kitchens in the tavern wouldn't yet be trading, she had ventured onto the market square in a bid to find the freshest, ripest fruits to satisfy her craving and as she browsed through the few stalls peppered around the square, her hunger pangs seemed only to worsen.  
  
"Something I can help you with, miss?"   
A willowy elven merchant queried, causing the young woman to jump in alarm as the voice snapped her from her reverie. Chuckling awkwardly, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and forced a smile, eyes focused on the baskets of various fruits and vegetables laid out before her.  
  
"Uhh... I-I'm looking for strawberries. I know they're kind of rare in these parts, giving the climate an' all-" she simpered, fingers knotting in the front of her tunic. The merchant laughed softly and nodded, drawing her attention to a large wooden box hidden just out of view behind a cache of watermelons.  
  
"You're in luck! I just came back from a trading expidition to Rialto. Exotic fruits for all!"  
  
"Ooooh! Fantastic!" Butters clapped her hands together in glee, bouncing on the balls of her feet she watched the merchant weight up a sizable amount of fruit in a small silver scales before her.   
  
"A pound of strawberries- three silvers, pet."  
  
Handing over the money with gusto, she practically yanked the little cloth bag from the merchant's hand, delving into it with a lustful haze in her eyes as she set about devouring half the contents. Chuckling incrediously, the elf shook his head and set a number of small jars on the table before him, stroking his chin in wonderment.  
  
"A woman with refined tastes, I see! Prehaps I can interest you in some fine Antivan spiced chocolates to go with your strawberries?"  
  
"Uhmm..." Butters glanced around, a half-eaten fruit poised to her lips; "Good sir, I hope you'll forgive me if I appear at all blunt but... will you  **marry**  me?"  
  
The merchant let out a hearty cackle, pushing a sizable pot of chilli-infused chocolate spread towards her. Eyes glinting with longing, Butters held it deftly between finger and thumb as she studied the ornate label. It looked delicious.   
  
And expensive.  
  
"How much?" she said, voice weighted with anxiety as her hands thumbed the satchel of coins at her hip.  
  
"Well, it's not every day this ol' fart gets an offer of betrothal from a fine young maiden such as yourself! I'll let it go for a great discount- twelve silvers- and I'll throw in a few more strawberries for good measure." the elf said kindly, taking the jar from her and placing it neatly into a small wicker basket along with a handful of those yummy red fruits she covetted so much.  
  
Grinning from ear to ear, Butters paid the man the twelve silvers plus three more for his good nature and set off in a delighted sprint towards Gorim's stall, intent on replacing the dagger she'd lost enroute to the city.   
  
Just as she rounded the corner, however, she skidded to a shuddering halt as her olive eyes fell upon the convoy of knights heading towards the castle.  
  
Two were set on horseback, heavily armed with broadsword and Dwarvian war-axe respectively whilst two more with bows and arrows flanked the side of an imposing black stallion.   
  
Seated upon the saddle was none other than Rendon Howe.  
  
Butters' heart leapt into her chest, almost choking the breath from her.   
Ducking behind a stone collumn, she breathed hard as she watched the snivelling husk of a man sound an order to raise the gates. A whinny rose up over the market place, the black stallion rearing back on its' hindquarters.  
  
For a brief moment, Butters prayed it would topple over, crushing the traitorous bastard with it's enormous bulk but alas, it seemed aquiring her own weight in fruit had expended the majority of her luck for the day.  
  
The convoy retreating to the inner sanctum of the arl's courtyard, Butters exhaled deeply as she raked her fingers through her hair. She bit down hard on her lip, the taste of sweet berries mingled with blood as she silenced an enraged scream. Her fingers clenched tightly around her little shopping basket but she willed herself to keep calm-if not for her own safety, then for Alistair's piece of mind.  
  
She had made him a promise to not try anything reckless and as much as her resolve was tested in this very moment, she had no intention of breaking it. Breathing raggedly, she stood stiff against the collumn until she felt certain it was safe enough to emerge into the light of the steadily rising sun.  
  
 _I swear... not even an entire army of Archdemons will stop me from slitting your goddamned throat-!_  
  
"Oh, gods. Can't I go  **anywhere**  in this accursed land without running into the likes of  **you**?!"  
  
Jolted from her murderous train of thought by a curt, snide voice, Butters turned her gaze from the castle gates into a pair of sharp, cat-like amber eyes that glared at her ruefully.  
  
"M-Morrigan! What're you doing up so early?!" she squeaked, heart hammering painfully in her chest. The witch growled and fisted a clump of linen as she pulled the rotund woman towards her, face blazing with scorn.  
  
"If you must know, I am trying to find an adequate covering for my neck- _look at what you've done_!" she cried with agitation, her free hand jabbing at her neck where a ring of angry purple bruises marred the pale flesh. 

  
"It'll take  **weeks**  for these marks to clear!"  
  
"I-I'm sorry, Morrigan. Truly." Butters whispered, brows knitted as she cast the witch an apologetic look. "I was way out of order acting the way I did-"  
  
"Shove your damn apology! You owe me a fuck-load of camoflage make-up and so help me, I'm not leaving this blasted market place 'til I get it!" Before she could utter a word of protest, Butters found herself being dragged through the marketplace by the scruff, tripping over herself as her feet scuffled the cobblestones.  
  
Dumping her unceromoniously in front of a vanity vendor, Morrigan wasted no time in throwing all manner of pots and vials filled with a variety of lotions, potions and salves at the young rogue until, over-encumbered by the heavy burden, Butters felt her knees trembling.  
  
"Oh, yes! And that silverite necklace as well, please!" the witch said snarkily, pointing at a reassuringly expensive-looking beaded choker that sat upon the vendor table glinting in the early morning sun. Jabbing a thumb over her shoulder, Morrigan took great sadistic pleasure in rolling the words off her tongue.   
"She's paying. For  **everything**."  
  
"M-Morrigan! I don't have a lot of cash on me!" Butters cried, casting an embattled glance at the vendor. "H-How much?"  
  
"Eight sovereigns." the merchant stated flatly, lips pursed into a thin line in an expression that clearly took any hope of haggling clean off the menu.   
  
Sighing deeply, Butters managed with great difficulty to procure the coins from her satchel. With nausea swelling in her stomach at the thought of paying such a ridiculous sum of money for something as trivial as make-up, she threw the coins at the merchant and quickened her pace to match the witche's strides as she skulked back in the direction of the tavern.  
  
"Do you  **really**  need all this stuff, Morrigan? Surely a vial of aloe extract and a few ice-cubes would suffice to dull the bruises?" Butters said exasperatedly as she toed the door open. The witch gave a snorting laugh and shoved her inside, teeth bared in a horrid smirk.  
  
"You clearly did not factor in the bruises to my ego, girl. I demand satisfaction."  
  
"Then might I suggest you go wake up my brother? By the sound of things he seems...most skilled at the matter.." the young rogue felt the nausea rise at the thought of her sibling doing...  **that**. She couldn't help but shudder.   
  
The witch bit her lip against the chuckle that quivered her shoulders, taking a seat near the bar as she watched the few patrons prepare for the breakfast rush.  
  
"Oh, that he is...!" she purred, crossing her legs and propping them up on the table before her; "I thought that there were no gods left in Thedas but it appears, I am much mistaken!"  
  
"Charming..!" Butters grumbled, sinking into the seat opposite and reaching for her fruit basket. "How on Earth did _that_ happen, anyways?" she mused, popping a tiny strawberry into her mouth and chewing it slowly in a bid to combat the odd taste in her mouth.  
  
"Hmm? You enquire to the nature of our relationship?" Morrigan queried, arching an eyebrow.   
  
The young woman shrugged and popped another piece of fruit.   
"Just concerned for my brother's wellbeing. You seem the sort that eats her prey whole after first toying with them. Do tell me when you plan to unhinge your jaw for the event-I'd pay good money to see you swallow him whole!"  
  
"Oh, I do my fair share of  **swallowing** , dear. He is a man of a most refined flavor!"  
  
"Again... I may throw up!"  
  
"What are  **you**  shovelling into your mouth?" the witch sniffed, glancing at the little red fruits in the younger woman's basket with veiled intrique, a finger reaching for one; "I've never seen fruits such as those before."  
  
Snatching the basket away from her grip, Butters clutched it protectively to her chest, glaring ruefully at Morrigan.   
"They're called strawberries, Morrigan. Usually grown in the hot climates of Rialto. They are rare and delicious and _not_ for your questionable pallete-"  
  
"Ahh, I've heard of these!" the witch said brightly, her curiousity now piqued as she leaned forward and snatched up one of the more sizable fruits in her nibble fingers. "A most potent aphrodesiac, or so I'm told. Do tell me- who is it that you wish to enamour with your dubious wiles, hmm?"  
  
"Must  **everything**  be about sex with you, Morrigan? There is no ulterior motive behind my purchase. I simply enjoy their sweetness. They remind me of home."  
  
The witch ran the tart flesh against her lips, considering its' taste before taking a small bite. A sudden appreciative gasp escaped her and she found herself chuckling. "Mmm. Most scrumptious! Prehaps I shall venture back into the market once more for my own supply, seeing as you are not willing to share." she took another bite and sprawled both arms over the back of the chair as she ate.  
  
"You say these fruits come from Rialto? Am I to understand you are not born of Highever?"  
  
"As if you care about my family background..." Butters muttered between mouthfuls, glaring darkly. The witch smiled sweetly-well, as sweetly as to be expected from Morrigan of all people- and popped the last bite of strawberry into her mouth, chewing it slowly to savor its' gentle taste.  
  
"That I don't. Even so, I am somewhat curious as to why, out of all the places you could've fled to, you chose Antiva above the rest."  
  
"Simple, really." Butters said cautiously, confused as to the sudden turn this conversation had taken. It was unlike Morrigan to have an interest in her fellow companions other than to inflict her passive-aggressive insults or fornicate with the leader.   
  
"My father owned a small vineyard just outside the capital city. Used to vacation there as a child. I always held a fondness for it so it seemed only natural I use that little villa as a bolthole."  
  
"Indeed, but surely you'd have known Howes men would come looking?" the witch sounded almost intrigued but Butters kept her guard up. She placed her basket of fruity goodness down on the table, inching it somewhat hesitantly towards the witch.  
  
"Not many people knew of it." she said as the raven haired mage entusiasticly reached for another berry; "It was a place for him to escape to when life as teryn of Highever got a bit too stressful. Well guarded too. Moat, high walls, archer turrets-the whole shebang."  
  
"And the elf?" Morrigan said, mouth half-full; "How did he factor into your great escape plan?"  
  
Butters frowned deeply, snatching back the basket as her temper flaired.   
"He didn't. Not that it's any of your business-"  
  
The witch folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against her seat, looking at the rogue with a side-long glance.   
"Oh? So I was simply imagining things when I saw him slink naked as a babe from your bedchambers not an hour past?"  
  
"W-what?" Butters sputtered against a mouthful of fruit, quickly punching herself in the chest to dislodge it from her throat. "Morrigan, don't joke about that-!"  
  
"I jest you not, little girl. I saw him with my own two eyes in all his glory as he sauntered so casually down the hall. I can see the appeal! A most succulent feast for the eyes, he was."  
  
"I don't know what he was doing in my bedchambers in the early hours of the morning but I assure you: I spent all of last night in Alistair's company." Butters felt a blush steadily rise on her cheeks as the witch studied her with a bemused expression, a finger thumbing her bottom lip in contemplation.   
  
"Did you, now? Malcolm would not be pleased to hear of your nocturnal activities, uncout as they are."  
  
"Ah-huh. And I suppose you're going to tell him I was up all night making passionate love with the ex-templar and the elf like the fat whore I am?" Butters said sarcastically, flicking a strawberry at her head. Morrigan gasped, plucking it quickly from the air and gobbling it up greedily as a low laugh escaped her.  
  
"I do not care for the details of your love-life, as intriguing as they might be. Whilst I am somewhat envious that you have managed to ensnare that fine piece of Antivan arse, the same cannot be said for the Chantry boy. What is the appeal there, I wonder? It can't be his dubious banter or his grating  **personality**."she stated, her voice dripping with sarcasm.  
  
Butters chuckled inwardly,shaking her head.   
"Now, now! That would be telling!"  
  
"He must be pleasent enough in bed if the colour of your cheeks are any indication."  
  
"You act as though you had your ear to the door all night! Surely you must've heard of his prowess!" the younger woman giggled impishly, reaching for a berry.  
  
"Urgh. The very thought of Alistair in flagrante is enough to turn my stomach- no easy feat!"  
  
Rising to her feet, the witch brushed down her leather skirt and fixed a few errant stands of hair from the loose bun she wore. "If you will excuse me, it is still early. Perhaps I might...procure a few of these delectable treats to feed to my fair warden whilst he rests, hmm?"  
  
Knowing better than to argue the point, Butters rolled her eyes and let her scoop up a handful of the fruits. As Morrigan's fingers held the spoils to her chest, she caught sight of the little jar of chilli-infused chocolate fondant and her eyes glittered with delight.  
"Oooh, chilli flavor-!"  
  
"Ah-ah! I plan to dip Alistair in this stuff and give him a hell of a wake-up call!"   
Butters said with a grin, snatching the jar away from the witche's prying fingers. Pursing her lips in distaste, Morrigan tutted with disproval as she headed towards the stairwell.  
  
"Such blatant disrespect for man's finest invention. For shame!" she said with a chuckle, shaking her head in amusement before disappearing into the first room on the left and closing the door to what was sure to be a most stimulating morning.  
  
Leaning back against her chair, Butters turned the little pot over in her fingers, studying its' contents.   
  
The chocolate looked rich, whipped smooth and creamy and tinged with the slightest hint of orange. For a moment, she debated on dipping a finger into the sweetness and reaquinting herself with the familiar tang of sweet chilli but instead, she took to the bar, intent on ordering a drink to wash down the fruit.  
  
A crinkle appeared over her nose as she tongued the seeds from her teeth.   
There should've been sweetness on her pallette but it was still there-that bewildering taste of old pennies at the back of her throat that had greeted her so strongly when she woke.  
  
Shrugging, she figured it was simply a product of being unaccustomed to the pollution in the air after spending so many weeks breathing in the salted breeze of Antiva and thought nothing more of it.   
  
Taking a small pot of tea with two cups on a tray from the barman who had now set out the canteens for the morning rush, she ascended the stairs two steps at a time, suddenly eager to taste sweetness of an altogether different kind...  
  
  


* * *

  
  
"Mmmm..what...?" Alistair mumbled, frowning in his sleep.   
  
He felt something brush against his bare chest, making him growl in annoyance.   
"I thought I told you...get lost, elf!" he grumbled, not bothering to open his eyes as he roughly turned on his side. He had barely rotated fully when a pair of stocky fingers rested on his shoulders and swiftly turned him.   
  
There was a sudden weight in his lap, followed by the feel of something cold dripping onto his stomach.  
  
"Aaaiii!" he squealed in alarm, eyes snapping open in shock.   
  
"Ssshh. Do you want the others to hear you?"Butters whispered, smirking conspiritorally. Sitting upright, Alistair nestled against his pillows and cocked his head at her, one blonde eyebrow arched.  
  
"This is the  **second**  time I've woken up sticky on your watch...!"he said in an unimpressed tone, glancing down at the ominous brown goo congealing in his navel. "Please tell me that's not what I think it is..."  
  
"I am fairly open-minded to trying new kinks, Alistair, but I draw the line at Rialto Steamers!"  
  
"Do I  **really**  want to know...?"  
  
"Nope." She leaned down to rest herself in between his legs as her hands trailed down over his sides. "Besides, it'd spoil the mood. I want you to enjoy this." she dipped her head low, tongue darting out to lap at the chocolate smeared across his taunt abdomen.   
  
"W-What? Butters, what're you doing-?!" he gasped, shuddering as her slick tongue entered the indent of his navel and swirled lightly.  
  
"I said I'd make things up to you, didn't I?" she purred against him, lifting her head a fraction of an inch to cast him a coitish smile. He sucked in a breath, raking his hand through his hair as an unsteady chuckle rattled his chest.  
  
"Well, yes but this isn't quite what I had in mind..!"  
  
She sat upright then, mouth turned down in a frown.   
"You don't want to...?"  
  
"N-no, no!" He placed his hands on her shoulders, giving a reassuring squeeze as a hot blush coloured his cheeks. "I-I didn't mean it like that! You just caught me off guard is all."  
  
She chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss his lips gently. A gasp escaped him as he took in the taste of her: rich, dark chocolate, strawberries and something else- a slight heat that made his skin tingle.  
  
"No harm done. So.." she whispered, slinking back down for another mouthful of chocolaty goodness; "...Shall I continue or leave you to your sticky bedsheets?"  
  
Exhaling through his nostrils, Alistair groaned and closed his eyes for a moment as his hand moved to caress her cheek. He gulped, half out of nerves and half out of excitement.   
Not trusting himself to talk, he nodded once and rested back on his forearms. Looking at her with veiled eyes, he watched as she lapped at him like a greedy kitten, her tongue moving in slow, languid strokes across the hard lines of his pectorals until she'd cleaned away the last succulent drop of chocolate.  
  
Rising up on her knees, Butters reached for that little jar of goodness, unscrewing the lid and pouring most of the contents over his chest. A whimper rose from the young blonde as he arched against the coolness of the sweet, gelatinous fluid and he had to bite his lip should his little noises be heard from down the hall.  
  
Stooping just enough, the raven haired woman licked a path from his collorbone down to his left nipple, chuckling breathlessly against him as she felt his pulse quicken and his heart hammer against his chest. Catching his gaze in hers, Alistair reached to thumb away a smidge of chocolate on her bottom lip and found himself drawing the digit into his mouth, his eyes boring into hers.  
  
Salt, chilli, cocoa, all rolled together along upon his pallete to create a most curious sensation. His tongue tingled in his mouth, the chilli just hot enough to envoke a pleasant warmth within. As she flicked lightly at the little fleshy nub, he moaned, pulling her up to him and grasping her head in both hands.  
  
"Maker, Butters...! The things you do to me..!" he breathed, catching her bottom lip between his teeth and giving it a testing nibble. When she responded with a groan of her own, he smirked and pulled her to him, delving his tongue deep into her mouth as he ached to taste her own luscious flavor.   
  
As his appendage swirled lazily around her, however, a new flavor joined with the others.  
  
It was coarse, metallic and slightly bitter. It reminded him vaguely of blood or possibly the taste of copper dust. Bewildered, he withdraw, holding her at arms lenght as he peered upon her with a curious expression.  
  
"Have you been licking any lampposts recently?"  
  
Cocking a brow, Butters pursed her lips in bemussment.   
"What? No! What makes you say such ludicrious things?"  
  
"Uhh..well, it's either that or you're gums are bleeding. You taste like metal."  
  
"You noticed that?" she said sheepishly, brushing her hand against the shiny, saliva-coated muscles before her and tracing small patterns with her index.   
  
"Hmmm. I don't know what it is, Alistair. When I woke up earlier, it felt like someone had shoved a whole fistful of pennies down my throat."  
  
"Should I be worried?" Alistair said with concern, tilting her head towards him. She chuckled gently and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.  
  
"Nah.. probably something I ate." she drew back a touch before pressing her lips against him once more, harder this time. "I would'nt worry too much about it. Besides, I can think of other things to cover up the taste...!"   
  
"Oh? Like what?" he breathed, enamoured by the promise in her voice. Butters simply giggled against him, lavishing kisses down his torso until she reached the small, wispy patch of blonde peeking out from the hem of his britches.  
  
"You'll see!"  
  
"B-Butters..?" the non-templar felt his breath quicken as her fingers hooked under the fabric and tugged just enough to slide it down over his hips. Churring with appreciation at the size of his semi-ridgid form, the raven haired woman placed a gentle kiss at the top of that wonderous patch of blonde, her nails raking over the delectable crease of skin where thigh met pelvis.  
  
As she touched upon the three half-moon shapped scars marring the lightly tanned flesh, Alistair gasped and found himself arching towards her.

"These look like nail-marks.." she breezed against him as she swept her mouth over the wounds, tracing them with the tip of her tongue.  
  
"Something you're not telling me..?"  
  
"Old C-Chantry habit.." he mumbled, shivering as ripples of delight surged up his spine. "The pain helps to distract when the urges get too- _Ahhh!_ " he gasped, feeling something cool drip onto his girth. Wiggling against the new sensation, he saw she had trickled the last dregs of the little glass jar into his lap, coating every inch of him with a generous amount of chocolate.  
  
"Hooo..." he sucked in a lungful of air, steeling himself as he felt her hot breath brush against him. Alistair could feel her smirking against his thigh like the cat who caught the canary as she leaned forward and licked the chocolate from his tip.  
  
Toes curling, the young blonde had to bite down on a pillow to muffle the groan that forced its' way from his throat, shuddering with delight. A raspy chuckle sounded around him as she relished his reaction.   
  
Without giving him any pause for thought, Butters leaned forward, taking him into her waiting mouth and drawing him out with an agonisingly slow pace, sucking away the chocolate as she went. Alistair's moan rose in pitch, his teeth snagging painfully on the cotton as the heat of her mouth radiated throughout his groin.   
  
He felt what little blood in his body not swelling his phallus rush to his cheeks at the sight that lay before him:  
  
Her plump, heart-shaped face coloured with lust, eyes narrow and seductive as she suckled him greedily. It was a crude, dirty image. And one of the hottest things Alistair had ever seen.  
  
" _M-Maker...!_ " he managed to blurt out, voice rising by at least an octave. Butters chuckled against him, the noise vibrating along his length as she continued to lap at him, tongue swirling and flicking against him with such vigor it was all he could do to call upon his Templar-trained discipline to keep from peeking early.  
  
Dipping her hands to cup his buttocks and pull him in some more, Butters bobbed her head gently, sucking from base to tip as he twitched against her. The little desperate sounds he made-barely muffled by the pillow he was chewing to bits- were enough to make her illicit a moan or two of her own.  
  
Moving one of her own hands to rest between her legs, she grinded against herself slowly, eyes falling shut as she savored the taste of the trembling non-templar who was virtually putty in her hands. Swishing her tongue over his quivering tip, she took to gently stroking him along, matching the movements to her own as she felt a pleasent tingle spread from the apex of her thighs.  
  
"Ohhh....Butters...Ahhh..."Alistair managed to whisper between mouthfuls of feather-stuffed pillow, tilting his hips in earnest as he felt the pleasure swell within his loins to an almost uncomfortable level. Biting hard into the pillow, he felt his chest tighten as his moans grew louder, frantic, the heat rising along his girth until he could take no more.  
  
Releasing hard enough to feel his eardrums pop, Alistair pulled himself upright, cupping her jaw in both hands as he shuddered against a toe-curling orgasm. He thrust just one- forgetting himself for a single breath-taking moment as his fingers clasped handsful of ebony black locks.  
  
"Mmmm..." Butters purred around him, drawing him out slowly and licking all along his sizable appendage until he was clean as a whistle.

Propping herself on her elbows between his thighs, she giggled and stole an upward glance, her grin widening at the look on his face.   
  
 _Oh, lord. I think I broke him..._  
Butters thought, biting her lip as she took in his incredilous expression.   
  
Alistair's soft brown eyes were wide with a mixture of shock and delight, his mouth adorned with goose feathers from where he'd bitten clean through the pillow that he now clutched none-too-gently, almost timidly as he stared upon her.  
  
"You okay?" she said gently, reaching to pluck a feather from his chin. 

  
As her fingertips brushed the rough stubble upon his jaw, his mouth broke into the widest smile she'd ever witnessed upon his features up to this point. He simply nodded dumbly, teeth glinting in the dim morning light and setting the pillow aside, pulled her onto his chest.  
  
It took a few moments for him to get his wits about him but when he finally spoke, there was no mistaking the glee in Alistair's voice.   
"That. Was.  **Awesome**!"  
  
Tucking a stray lock behind her ear, Butters chuckled lightly and drapped an arm over him as she snuggled against his willowy frame. "Well, I aim to please!" she said casually, twining their fingers together. The blonde sighed happily and snaked an arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head.  
  
"Then may I say, your aim is _incredibly_ accurate?" Turning on his side, he buried his nose in her hair, kissing her with reverence as he blazed a trail towards her jaw. "You must teach me more of your fine... nocturnal skills.."the non-templar purred, caressing her neck with his free hand.  
  
"Maybe later. If we dally too long, the others will get suspicious." the raven haired woman said with a sigh, drumming her fingers against her chest. Catching them in his bandaged hand, Alistair chuckled, his deep auburn eyes taking in the sight of her clad in little more than a beige tunic.  
  
 _Wait..._  
  
"Are you wearing my shirt?"   
  
"You'd rather see me dressed in that hideous circus tent my brother purchased?"

  
"Nooo.." Alistair's tone was playful as he lightly nibbled her earlobe; "...I'd rather see you  **naked!** "  
  
She giggled impishly, reluctant to part ways as she swung her legs over and scooted towards the end of the bed.

"All in good time, sweetie." 

  
Reaching for the small tray she'd stashed on the night stand, she poured him a cup of tea and one for herself, grabbing the cloth bag of strawberries and seating herself once more beside him. Propped up on his side, Alistair considered her with interest, one eyebrow arched as he took the little white china cup from her kind fingers.  
  
"You don't want me to...return the favor?" he said curiously, watching as she arranged herself crosslegged before him. A hot blush rose upon her cheeks and she averted her gaze as she reached for a berry.  
  
"I do, Alistair. Believe me. I'm sorely tempted to throw you back against this bed and ride you like a-"  
  
"-Donkey?" he finished, chuckling heartily as he recalled her glowing review from their first drunken night little more than a week ago. He had been so nervous then, so terrified of what she might think but seated in the bedroom of that little tavern in Denerim, Alistair was surprised at how calm he felt.   
  
Choking slightly on a strawberry, Butters couldn't help the laugh escape her as she playfully smacked his shoulder. "I did  **not**  say that!"  
  
"Yes, you did! I found it rather endearing to my fragile young ego, if I may say so myself." Piqued by the sudden introduction of food to the equation, Alistair felt his stomach rumble as he cast eyes on the little red fruits in his bedmate's hand. "What'cha got there?"  
  
Plucking a berry between finger and thumb, she raised it deftly to her lips, batting her lashes at him as a coitish smile dimpled the corners of her mouth.   
"A little taste of heaven!"  
  
"Oh? Colour me intriqued!"  
  
Chortling gently,Butters brushed the taunt rind against his lips, watching him intently as he took a tenative bite and churred his approval,  leaning back against the pillows and folding his arms behind his head as he rolled the foot around on his tongue.  
  
"Mmm. Not bad... though after what you just did with that naughty little mouth of yours, I'd hardly describe this tiny berry as  **heavenly**!"  
  
"Oh, lord. Now you'll be comparing everything to toe-curling blowjobs!"  
  
He quirked an eyebrow.   
"Is that what it's called? Huh. Strange. I seem to recall more  **sucking**  than blowing!" He chuckled lightly, earning a light slap on the shoulder. "Still..that was...wow! I never imagined...!"  
  
Running a hand through his hair, Alistair sighed contentedly and gently grasped her wrist, pulling her down so she was cuddled up against his chest once more. Stroking her hair, he kissed her cheek softly and whispered longingly into her ear. "Whatever you desire, it is my command."  
  
A loud knock  at the far end of the room made them both jump.   
  
Quickly fixing his fly to better hid his modesty, Alistair scrambled to rearrange the bedclothes,  scooting away from his lady fair before setting his face in what he hoped was a neutral look. Winking cheekily at her, he grabbed a book from the shelf over the bed and set to thumbing through a random passage in a bid to look nonchalant.  
  
Butters had just managed to hitch a pair of brown woolen britches to her waist when Malcolm barged into the room, fully armoured and with his typical surly expression etched upon his face.  
  
"Ahh, good. You're up. Get your shit together. We're movin' out." he grunted, arms folded over his chest as he studied the pair with scrutiny. Sniffing the air momentarily, a crinkle along his nose deepened somewhat.  
  
"Have you two been  **fucking**?"  
  
Clearing her throat loudly, Butters forced a dubious grin.   
"Oh, yes. It's a regular freak-fest in here. Why, just before you knocked, I was busy giving Alistair a jolly good licking..!" she said in a low, sarcastic drawl. Unable to keep from smirking, the blonde templar snorted into his book at the sound of Malcolm's disgusted grunt and tried desperately not to burst into a fit of hysterical giggles.  
  
"As much as I enjoyed my brekfast, I don't entertain the idea of seeing it make a reappearance! Gather your supplies. Once everyone's up and dressed, we're heading south."  
  
"South..?" Butters queried, frowning; "But we just got here!"  
  
"This isn't a vacation, Butters. I had business to attend to in the market this morning but it's over now so we best be off before the arl gets word of our presance."  
  
The raven haired rogue was about to enquire to the "business" he spoke of but stopped short, seeing congealing blood flecked upon the family broadsword he held limp by his side. Sensing her uneasy gaze, the elder warden sighed and resheathed it in the scabbord on his back.  
  
"It was a trap." he said warily, directing his words at Alistair only to blink in bewilderment. "Since when could you read upside down scripture?"  
  
The non-templar coughed awkwardly, a stray giggle escaping him here and there. "I have many little talents, Malcolm. Perhaps if you spent less time berating me and more time getting to know your fellow warden, perhaps I might teach you!"  
  
"Ugh, I don't even  **care**...! Look, to make a long story short, Genitivi wasn't home but his bodyguard was. Managed to get another clue to the whereabouts of the ashes shortly before I carved him up like a Christmas ham. Take a look at this." Fishing through the leather satchel at his hip, Malcolm produced a wadded up lump of parchment and handed it to his sister.  
  
Scanning over it for a moment, Butters pursed her lips.   
" _Haven_? I've never heard of it."  
  
"That's were we're going. The route is trecherous to say the least and unless we can persuade a stable master to give us a couple o' horses, it's going to take at least a month to get down there."  
  
Snapping his book shut, all the mirth left Alistair's body at that.   
  
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he sat hunched upon the mattress, a hand clasping his chin as he struggled with the information. A deep, dejected sigh escaped him then, his brown eyes growing helpless as he caught Malcolm's steely gaze.  
  
"Arl Eamon... he-he might not have that long..." he said quietly, trying to keep his voice steady.  
  
Inwardly, he cursed.   
  
Optimistic as ever, he lay in foolish hope that wherever that so-called religious artifact lay, it wouldn't require more than a week of travelling to get to. Time was of the essence and as he thought about the man who had taken in him so valiently and given him some semblance of home for much of his youth, a lump caught in Alistair's throat.   
  
 _He... might not have another week, let alone a month.._  he thought morosely, shoulders slumping in resignation.  
  
"Alistair...?" Butters queried, confused by his sudden drop in demeanor. She took a step towards him, resting a hand lightly on his bare shoulder. He forced a smile and petted her hand, breathing hard.  
  
"Long story. I'll tell you on the road." he said simply, not trusting himself to say anymore.  
  
Malcolm cleared his throat loudly and tapped his foot with impatience. "I suggest we get a move on. As Numb-Nuts said, the arl might not live long enough to recruit an army and we need all the help we can get. Quickest way I can see us getting there is if we trek up to Lake Calenhad, take a boat across to Orzammar and  hike the rest of the way. If we leave now, we might be able to shave a day or two off the travel time."  
  
"Sounds like a plan-"Alistair started, only to faulter as he watched Zevran's head pop in through the door-frame.  
  
"Forgive me but I couldn't help overhearing of your little predicament." he drawled, stepping into the room with a flourish. The non-templar sighed with relief. At least he was fully clothed this time.  
  
"I know of a skilled seafairer in these parts with a ship that will get us to Orzammar as fast as the wind blows! We can drop anchor this evening if I should call in a favor."  
  
"Okay.." Malcolm sighed, sniffing with ill-disguised contempt. "I'll bite. You want something in return, I take it?"  
  
"Other than a night of passion with your beautiful sister?"   
Zevran said merrily, met with an icy glare from both of the Cousland siblings; "No, no. I am simply offering my services to the cause as you have been kind enough to spare me. Your reprieve would be in vain if I did not interject with some sound tactics, no?"  
  
Shaking his head, Malcolm rubbed his temples and sighed.   
"Fine. Take us to this seafairer of yours."  
  
"I feel I should warn you first.." Zevran's voice was smooth as silk, his amber eyes heavily focused on Butters; "...She is a hard woman to please..!"

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo... life got a bit hectic but there'll be a fair few updates incoming as I have about 5 more chapters to prep before this one ends. Some sibling bonding between Malcolm and Butters. He's far from cuddly but he tries...!

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

  
"Why do they call it a 'brothel?' There's no broth. Or is there?"    
Alistair said innocently, oblivious to the shady shenanigans at play behind the stony walls of  The Pearl.    
  
Snickering into her hand, Butters shook her head at his naivety and lightly patted his shoulder.    
"Oh, there's broth alright. Granted, it is a bit on the salty side!" she giggled, grinning at the bewildered expression on his face.   
  
Breathing in the smell of sin in the air, Butters sighed contently. It was a familiar scent, one that had permeated the cool ocean breeze of the Antivan capital and it made her feel vaguely homesick for that warm, rich culture of carnal delights.    
  
"Have you ever done this before?" Alistair queried, glancing side long at the rogue with intrigue in his eyes. He watched as her ears blushed, eyelids turning down with bashfulness.   
  
"That would be telling!"   
  
"Hmmm. I've never gone sailing before. Is it really all that's cracked up to be?"   
  
"Oh!" she jumped back, surprised by his innoculous query as she'd mistaken it for something more uncout. Chuckling awkwardly, she tucked a stray lock of ebony behind her ear and smoothed out the creases in the oversized linen tunic swathing her frame. "Well aside from the clear and present danger of sirens, nymphs and krakens, it's fairly uneventful." her voice was a mirthful drawl, hand darting out to give his a crafty squeeze.   
  
"Relax. The first time is always a little nerve-wracking but I daresay you'll take to it like a duck to water!"

  
"Here's hoping.." Alistair said lightly, rubbing his thumb along the curve of her knuckles for a moment before pulling away to scratch his chin. "...What's a kraken? It sounds like a sort of biscuit..."   
  
Snorting with laughter, Butters couldn't bring herself to correct him as she took to giggling at his utter obliviousness. This was going to be a fun evening...!

  
Placing her hands on her hips as she took in the homey surroundings, her eyes fell upon the elf in her midst. A slight frown crossed her brow, watching as he strolled over to a busty, heavily-armoured wench in the far corner and laid on the charm.   
  
As much as she tried to fight it, Butters couldn't help but feel a sting of jealousy as she watched Zevran openly flirt with the brunette woman, his fingers ghosting over her face like a lover's caress.   
All throughout the conversation, his amber eyes would meet the rogues on occasion, lingering just long enough to make her feel exceptionally uncomfortable.   
  
Sensing the tension in her shoulders, Alistair gave her a gentle nudge and handed her the near-empty bag of fruit he'd brought along from the tavern. It was hard not to follow her gaze but for his own sanity, the blonde non-templar kept his eyes on Butters, knowing all too well the source of her unease. Forcing a smile, he took a strawberry and chewed it slowly in a bid to keep from speaking out but his calm expression did not mask the turbulence in his eyes.   
  
If they were indeed to spent the crux of a month in close quarters on the high seas, things could get very  **very**  awkward. He sighed quietly, idly brushing a hand against the slight mark on his forehead.   
  
_ Affairs of the heart are so complicated... _   
  
After several minutes, Zevran finished chatting up the busty brunette and sauntered over to the group with one arm looped through hers, looking most satisfied as a wide grin pulled across his features. "Dear friends, may I introduce you to Isabella, queen of the Eastern Seas and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn?"    
  
The armoured woman chuckled and bowed with a flourish, her dark hair swishing as she moved. "Charmed! Am I to understand you wish to make haste to Orzammar?" her voice was a low purr, which when coupled with the sharp angles of her features and narrow, feline eyes, made her look much like a cat in heat.   
  
Stepping forward with a loud clunk of metal on wood, Malcolm cocked his head at her, his gaze stony.

"Aye.You're the woman for the job, I take it? We require swift passage to the port of Jader. Time is of the essence;"he said pointedly, throwing a nod towards Alistair; "A man's life is at stake."   
  
"Weather and oceanic conditions permitting, it will take roughly three to four weeks to get there if we forgo the inlets at West Hill and sail straight through to the Waking Sea. Once you have adequately stocked up for the long journey, just say the word and I'll have my crew haul anchor." Isabella said cooly, smirking as her eyes roamed over the warden's sizable frame.    
  
It was all too clear exactly what she was thinking.   
  
Clearing her throat a little too loudly, Morrigan slinked up to his side, shooting the pirate a warning sneer. "And I suppose you'll be wanting your payment up front, I take it?" her voice dripped with contempt, a deep crinkle appearing above her nose as the witch considered the brown-haired woman with a look akin to one she might wear if she'd stepped in mabari poop.   
  
Isabella chuckled throatily, flipping her hair in a cocky gesture as she shrugged with an air of nonchalance. "You suppose correctly, my dear. Perhaps I could persuade you to part with your dear warden for an hour or two? I prefer my payment to be of a more... _intimate_ kind."   
  
"Ugh. Why am I not surprised?" Morrigan sniffed, wrapping a possesive arm around Malcolm's waist only for the embattled warrior to shrug it off. He folded his arms over his chest and shot the witch a ruefull expression.   
  
"A warden must do what he must." he said gruffly, smirking slightly as he spotted the repulsed look on his companion's face.    
  
"If this is about my peppering your sibling with shards of broken glass, I assure you! The matter has long since been resolved! You wish to spite me, is that it? Or have you simply tired of my touch?"   
  
"Don't pout, Morrigan." Malcolm sniffed, rubbing his index over his lip; "We were  **never**  exclusive."   
  
"Uh-oh.." Alistair said in a stage whisper to a snickering Butters, mock horror on his face; "Looks like trouble in paradise..!"   
  
"You are most welcome to join us if you perfer, my dear." Isabella cooed, reaching to finger a peacock feather that shined out from the clump of feathers atop Morrigan's elaborate pauldron.   
  
Smacking her hand away, the witch let a fierce growl grit through her teeth. "I  **don't**  share, you beastly woman! Come, Malcolm-surely we have better things to do than pander to the will of a common whore-!" she tugged at his arm, intent on dragging him away from the pirate's amourous advances, her face crimson with barely-contained rage.   
  
"Tsk. Such a selfish woman upon your arm." Isabella chuckled, patting his chestplate; "Well, if you do not wish to engage my services-"   
  
" _Isabella_..." Zevran sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes as he drapped an arm over the pirate's shoulders, leaning in close to whisper something in her ear. She cocked a brow, an intriguing smirk crossing her lips before a husky laugh escaped her.   
  
"You drive a hard bargain, Zevran. Still, I  **do**  owe you one for ridding me of my feckless husband. Consider yourself an honorary crewman of the  _ Siren's Call! _ "   
  
The elf grinned in triumph, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Aye aye, captain! Pirate Zevran, preparing to board!"   
  
"No time like the present." Malcolm grunted, tightening the straps of the scabbord on his back. 

  
"Let's be off then, before we miss the tide."   
  
"Just a minute!" Thumbing her bow, Leliana cocked her head to the side as she glanced upon the elder warden; "Are you quite certain of the route? I've heard many tales of bandits along the straits preying upon hapless sailors-"   
  
"I assure you, dear lady, you are in most capable hands with me." Isabella's voice was almost leecherous as she took in the bard's shapely physique with a churr of appreciation; "You need not worry. I know these seas most intimately. In the unlikely event of an ambush, I come well armed for maritime war-fare. If needs be, there are several islands along the way that would offer save haven."   
  
"Sounds good to me!" Butters said chirpily, bouncing on the balls of her feet.    
  
It would be good to get back on the open seas once again. 

  
The salty air and the gently rocking of the ocean always did wonders for calming her restless spirit and as she listened to Isabella speak fondly of her adventures out upon the waves, a pang of longing tugged at the young rogue's stomach.   
There was murmur of agreement from most of the group, though Morrigan made it perfectly clear with her deep scowl that she was not at all entertained by the pirate's shameless advances on her bedmate.

  
"This is most superfulous!" she snapped, arms folded as she hunched in the corner; "I cannot see why we can not hike to our destination! Our legs have served us well in the past so why break from the norm?"   
  
"One does not simply walk to Orzammar." Malcolm said pointedly, rubbing his temples. She was beginning to get on his nerves now, between complaining of the route and protesting her involvement in the little snafu earlier that morning.    
  
"You would rather we take our lives into our own hands by crossing the Bannorn on foot? In case you haven't noticed, we are all marked for death. We do not know how far Loghain's power extends and for that matter, travelling by sea is one way to avoid his ire. Unless you have a better plan, the decision is final. You are welcome to leave at anytime, Morrigan." He swiped his sword towards the door, face a cold, hard line.

"Don't let the door hit you in the arse on your way out."   
  
"But...!" Morrigan's face was a picture of pain, mouth turned down in what could almost be described as sullen expression. Curling her bottom lip inward, the witch turned away, her hands clenched into fists by her side.    
"Hmmph. Finished with me now, are you?" her voice shook as she struggled to uphold her stubborn demeanor. "You miserable, selfish  **bastard...!**  " she hissed the words out, her honey-coloured eyes narrowed to slits. 

With an almighty shove, she barged past the elder warden and stormed from the brothel without so much as a backwards glance cursing under her breath as she slammed the door behind her.   
  
"Geez, Malcolm. That was a lil' harsh, don'tcha think?" Butters said worriedly, frowning at him.   
  
Arching an eyebrow, the warrior curled his lips into a sneer.   
"Treating 'em mean is the only way to keep 'em keen."   
  
"You're an asshole." the young rogue said in exasperation, glancing towards the doorway.    
  
Whilst she didn't hold the witch in high favor, Butters couldn't help but feel a small pang of sympathy towards her and as she moved towards the exit, she was struck with an urge to pursue her, if not to convince her and her impressive magical skills to remain under the party's close watch, then to simply stop her from destroying half of Denerim in a giant fireball.    
  
However, before she could move to slip away, Malcolm's grip was upon her wrist. He shot her a warning look, twisting his fingers around her painfully.   
  
"Let her go. It's not your concern-"   
  
" **You**  might not take seriously the threat of an angry, insulted rampaging malecifor running loose in the marketplace but  **I** sure do. For Creator's sake, Malcolm, you really have no tact when it comes to women!"   
  
"Mind your own damn business..." he grunted irritably, releasing her wrist as his cold eyes bore into her.  _ Girl cares too much for her own damn good. _  He thought, exhaling deeply. Reaching to scratch the bristles of his hair, Malcolm pursed his lips and turned towards the rest of his companions.   
  
"If any of you have unfinished business in this backwater city, I suggest you get it done and over with before the sun goes down. Once Isabella gets everything prepared, we ride on to Orzammar before the dusk breaks."   
  
Butters made a move to retort but stopped herself, exhaling in a resigned sigh. 

Casting a glance between Alistair and Zevran, she threw her arms up and motioned for them both to follow.   
"Urgh, let's get out of here. If my brother wishes to roll around in the gutter, then that's his bloody perogative..." she sniped irritably.    
  
"Can't say I blame him. Isabella's company tends to be most  **stimulating!** " Zevran said with a wicked undertone, earning a firm smack on the shoulder from the young rogue.    
  
Pouting deeply, Butters strided out into the balmy afternoon breeze and headed further down the pier in the direction of the ship that was bound to shepard them across the ocean.   
  
_ The Siren's Call _  was a majestic sight to be behold.

Far grander than the humble tramp steamers and trading boats dotted along the marina, the vast mahogany structure stuck out like a sore thumb.   
Adorned with elaborate carvings along the hull, a guilded stone mascot of a busty sea nymph stared down at them with a sultry look, appearing almost to wink in the bright sunlight.   
  
A low whistle sounded from Alistair as he craned his neck to take in the sheer size of the vessel.    
"That's a pretty big boat...!"he gasped, eyes wide with childlike wonder. Chuckling softly, Butters folded her arms behind her head and let out a slight yawn.   
  
"This? This is hardly anything more than a tugboat. I remember, once whilst accompanying my father overseas as a little girl seeing a gigantic fleet of Orlasian warships docked in Rialto Bay. Such an imposing sight. I believe the imperial family was in the city on official business at the time. The whole armada had these gigantic golden sails that seemed to shimmer when the light them. I've never seen anything like it before or since. It was..." she exhaled the word slowly;    
  
"... **breath-taking.** "   
  
"Ahhh, what a privilaged childhood you must've lead;" Zevran said with a tone of reverance; "Sailing from coast to coast, mingling with kings and commoners, dripping with jewels and exotic finary! Mmm. The life of a teryna sounds most appealing. Why on earth would you run from it?"   
  
Flushing slightly, Butters tucked a lock of her fringe behind her ear and leaned slightly against Alistair, her hand brushing his for the briefest moment. "It wasn't all fun and games, Zevran. Being a member of nobility comes with certain... _responsiblities_. Duties. Traditions that are to be uphold regardless of one's personal perferances."   
  
Looking at her with a empathic expression, Alistair gave her a gentle squeeze. He knew all too well how bloodlines might affect the course of one's life, grimacing as he recalled his own birth right and how he had strainiously tried to deny the fact. Whilst he was certain there was a marked difference between royal blood and being of noble descent, Alistair couldn't help but sympathise with the sorrowful look in her olive-coloured eyes.   
  
"I was never one for politics." he said lightly, twining their fingers together by his side; "Place me in charge of a chicken coop and I guarentee there'll be plenty of broken eggs left when I'm done!"   
  
"I'd well believe it." Zevran quipped, placing his hands on his hips and arching his back in a stretch. "I daresy, you would make a most delightful arlessa,  _ Margerina _ . Thedas could do with a few more party animals in nobility such as yourself! It would make all those dull meetings so much more intriguing!"   
  
"Party animal?" Butters emited a snort; " **Moi** ? Please! I'm no wilder than your common garden variety gillyweed!"   
  
The elf touched a hand to his lips, a smirk spreading across his tanned features. "I beg to differ! Get a little rice wine into you and you go  _ mucho loco _ ! Remember that time we stole a horse and rode out to Seleny for the running of the oxen?  **That**  was a crazy weekend!"   
  
"Sounds like you two got up to quite a bit of mischief..." Alistair said with a curious tone, looking at them both with a mixed expression. He wanted to be okay with her past, to accept her vow that it was over between her and the elf but as Alistair quietly listened to the sordid tales they both weaved, he found it increasingly difficult to believe their relationship was purely platonic.   
  
They way Butters laughed and slapped him playfully, the teasing, flirty tone of Zevran's voice as he told a particularly crude joke involving a hamster and a string of pearls was enough to plant a seed of doubt in the young ex-templar's mind.   
  
Closing his eyes for a moment, he urged himself to take in a few lungfuls of air in a bid to combat the growing buzz of jealousy that resounded in his head. 

_ Don't think about it. You'll only drive yourself barkers.. _  he chided himself, unable to avoid letting out a deep sigh.   
  
He certainly had enough to worry about with Arl Eamon's illness at the forefront of his mind without adding a love triangle to the mix. Shaking his head, he turned to Butters and forced himself to smile broadly.   
"Uhhh... if you don't mind, I'd rather like to visit my sister before we head off. This might be my only chance-"   
  
"Ohh, you have a sibling, Alistair?" Zevran failed to hide the keen interest in his voice as his eyes widened with glee; "Is she single?"   
  
"Zevran!" Butters swatted his shoulder.   
  
"What? I am a free agent! Besides, if she looks anything at all like your dear templar, perhaps I am in for a most delectable treat, no?"   
  
"Who said  **you**  were invited?" Alistair's voice sounded rougher than he wished but he covered his tracks by coughing loudly; "Go look for Morrigan. I'm sure she hasn't gone far. Bring her back to the tavern and calm her down. Perhaps give her one of those massages you're always banging on about."   
  
Sensing the irritation in the blonde's voice, the assassin smirked and crossed his arms, teeth glinting in a conspiritory smile. "Ahh, yes. As tempting as that idea sounds, I'm afraid Morrigan is much too boney for my refined tastes. I perfer my women..." he gazed wantonly at Butters just then; "...to be of a more comely persuasion. I like to have something to grab onto as it were-!"   
  
"Then might I suggest you go hump a Mabari?" Alistair stated dryly; "I'm sure Dogmeat will be glad of the company.." he pursed his lips, remembering the fearsome hound who had given him a most pleasent wake-up call not too long ago. It had taken a whole box of soap powder before he got the stench out of his armour.   
  
"Ha! I am a man of many aquired tastes, Alistair but I draw the line at inter-species erotica." the elf's tone was breezy but there was no mistaking the weighted under-current of contempt.   
  
Narrowing his eyes just slightly, Zevran peered down the end of his nose at his 'rival' and bite back a noise of distaste as he spotted their clasped hands.   
Once, not too long ago, she had held his own hand with such an adoring grip. Whilst first wary of the gesture, being unused to such closeness, the silver-haired elf found himself longing for it in the weeks following her absence. It startled him, the intensity of his sorrow when he had watched her sail off into the sunset.   
  
Two months was little more than a flash in the pan but it was an intense two months. There were sweeping highs, days filled with laughter and meriment as they both immersed themselves in the heart of the free-spirited Antivan culture. Yet there were also unfatomable, crashing lows especially in those first few days following the rescue.   
  
Both grieving over the losses of people they held dear to their hearts, Zevran and Butters had been drawn together by mutual sorrow. That fateful day on the docks when he pulled her from the black waters seemed on the surface to be just like any other but when he first stared into those wide, olive-coloured eyes of hers, he felt something spark inside him. An all-encompasing need to protect her from danger surged through him then, urging him to keep her close and under his watchful gaze. 

Yet as the days turned to weeks, the elf found himself falling deeper and deeper, losing himself in her fragility.   
  
Prehaps it was pure wishful thinking on his part-her stubborn nature certainly reminded him of the women he had loved and lost seemingly a lifetime ago. Perhaps he wanted to relive the feelings of being wanted for a reason other than death and discord. Whatever the reason behind such unfamiliar longings, Zevran found himself flooded by fear.   
  
He wasn't used to this sensation, to want so passionatly for one person. It went against everything he had been raised to believe: to take his pleasure where and when he could, to forgo emotions in favor of the sing of steel againt flesh, to be nothing more than a cold, unfeeling killing machine.   
  
Yet as he watched the couple turn and head up the jetty towards the market-place, he felt an uncomfortable tug at his heartstrings as he watched her leave.   
  
Grimacing, Zevran turned away from the sight as a horrid stabbing sensation rushed through his chest.

  
_ Mi corazón ... _  he breathed helplessly, a hand flying to clutch at his breast as he bit back the ghosts of futile tears.   
  


* * *

  
  
"You okay, Alistair?"    
  
"Hrm?" Alistair glanced up from his intensive study of the grit on his shoes to meet the rogue's concern gaze. Her face was etched with worry, a crease appearing in her brow as she cupped his jaw with both hands to peer deep into his eyes. He managed to force a smile at her, swallowing back the ball of nerves that had wedged itself in the back of his throat.   
  
"You're being uncharacteristicly quiet. A shame. I much adore your witty banter." she said gently, her eyes darting around for any untoward audiences before she leaned in a planted a soft kiss upon his lips. He chuckled against her, his hand resting lightly on her hip.    
  
"Uhh.. do I seem nervous? Th-that's because I am." he peered at her with an anxious expression, his hand moving to absently rub along her bare arms as he pondered his words.

"...I'd like you to come with me. Or, y'know..we could just leave. Don't really have the time to pay a visit, do we?" He was rambling now, suddenly stricken by nerves as he considered the possibility of facing up to his heritage.   
  
Sensing his unease, Butters pulled him into a reassuring hug and let her fingers dance over the base of his skull. "It's up to you, Alistair." her voice was low and soft, calming him slightly. Resting his forehead against hers, the blonde ex-templar sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.   
  
He contemplated briefly on telling her about the weight of the blood in his veins, of the dirty little secret he was burdened with for most of his life but he held back. It was much too early for such a serious conversation and whilst he was all for the idea of them getting to know each other better, he doubted she'd appreciate such deception so early in their relationship-   
  
Alistair tensed as the word flashed through his head.  _ Wait, what? _  He blinked, holding her at arms lenght to study her features. Butters cocked her head at him, quizzical.   
  
"Need some liquid courage?" she teased lightly, a warm smile edging across her lips. Chuckling unsteadily, Alistair pushed the heavy question of their status aside for the time being, focusing on the task at hand. "I doubt she'll appreciate me showing up out of the blue utterly inebriated, Butters.."   
  
"Shame." the rogue said with mock disappointment; "You can be most entertaining when you're drunk!"   
  
Alistair felt his ears blush. Coughing loudly, he stepped up to the rickety wooden door before them and sucked in a breath. 

"I...I.. don't know what to expect to find behind this door.." he murmured, unbroken hand hesitating as it hovered over the wood. Swallowing tensely, he landed the fist, knocking twice before dropping his hand back to his side.   
  
Wanting to sooth his obviously frazzled nerves, Butters twinned her fingers through his and gave him a light clasp. For a moment, there was only silence between them. Then, a small scratching noise that rose in pitch, followed by a number of low curses and angry muttering before the door swung open with a jolt.   
  
Upon the step stood a tall, rakish woman with pointed features. Butters blinked in surprise, her eyes taking in the sight. There was no mistaking the family resemblance, for both she and Alistair shared the same sun-kissed blonde hair and strong jawline but although their eyes were the same shade of cinnamon brown, there was no mirth within them.   
  
"Got linens?" the woman snapped irritably, her lips thinned into a hard line, marred by spidery wrinkles that made it difficult to determine her age; "I charge three bits per bundle. You won't find better in all of Denerim. Don't trust a word out of that Lithallian woman's mouth-she's a foreigner and she'll rob the teeth clean out of your head if she thought it might earn a quick silver."   
  
Alistair fidgetted uncomfortably, his smile troubled. 

"Uhhh... I'm not here to have any washing done. M-My name is Alistair. I'm..." he hesitated, his breath quickening as he felt his knees give over to panic. Placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him, Butters leaned in to breeze against his ear.   
  
"Shall I..?" she whispered, feeling him quake beneath her touch. He exhaled slowly, drawing himself unsteadily to his full height and flashing her an awkward grin. "N-no, I'm a big boy. I don't need you to hold my hand, as much as I might like the gesture!"   
  
Goldana arched an eyebrow. It was clear from the contemptuous look on her face that her patience was wearing thin. 

"State your business or get out. I've got young 'uns to feed and too little time to waste."   
  
"I-I'm your brother!" Alistair exclaimed, a little louder than he'd have liked.   
  
"My what? Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?!" Goldana barked in a disbelieving tone, her brow arching. Nodding feverishly, Alistair took a step forward and extented a hand in greeting.   
  
"N-no, I am your brother, Goldana! Our mother worked as a servant girl at Redcliffe castle a long time ago before she... _died_. Do you know anything about that?"   
  
Goldana's face drained of all color as she gauped in light of the revalation. Eyes wide, she stared hard at Alistair, the furrows in her brows deepening. "I  **knew**  it! They told me you was dead, that you died in childbirth along with mother but I knew better than that!"   
  
The blonde non-templar frowned, his grip tighting a little on Butter's hand. "They told you I was  **dead?**  Who? Who told you that?"   
  
The blonde woman grunted with irritation. "Them at the castle! I told them the babe was Maric's little bastard and they told me he was stillborn! Gave me a sovereign to shut my mouth and sent me on me way! I knew it!"   
  
"I'm sorry.." Alistair's voice was quiet, a note of shock just audible on his tongue; "...but you have to believe me. The child... the child is me, Goldana. I  **am**  your brother."   
  
The woman snorted, folding her arms across her chest as it rumbled with cruel laughter.    
"For all the good its' done me! If it wasn't for you, mother'd still be alive and I wouldn't have to scrape by all this time! That hush money didn't last long at all! When I went back to the castle, they done ran me clean out of the place-!"   
  
"I'm not surprised." Butters said curtly, glowering at the deplorable woman stood before her. 

  
"With such malice spewing from your mouth, I'm amazed they didn't cut out your tongue!"   
  
"Butters.." Alistair raised a hand, holding her back as he noted the contempt in her voice.   
  
Face twisting into a sneer, Goldana rounded on the raven-haired rogue, casting her a scowl that would've made Morrigan glow with pride. "And who're  **you** ? Some gold-digging tart with her eye on his riches?"   
  
"Hey!" Alistair snapped, coming between the pair as he felt anger rise in the pit of his stomach. "Don't speak to her that way! She is a dear friend of mine and a skilled warrior at that! An honorable Grey Warden so I won't take kindly to your petty insults!"   
  
The beastly woman let out a snort of derision.    
"Oh-ho, a prince and a Grey Warden, hmm? Well pardon me if I don't wish to waste my energy pretending to care. I don't know who you are, boy, but your father's sins still taint this house. He forced himself on my mother, he did. Snatched her away like a thief in the night and look what I have to show for it! Sod all! They tricked me good an' proper. Prehaps I should've told everyone!"   
  
Pushing the pair towards the open door, Goldana grasped at the frame, her knuckles whitening from the exertion. "I've got five mouths waiting to be fed so unless you can help that, I've got less than no use for you."   
  
"I...I'm sorry." Alistair said quietly, shoulders slumped in defeat. "I don't know what to say..."   
  
Jaw clenched, Butters released the non-templar's hand and took a large lumbering step towards Goldana, mimicking the intimidating gait of her brother as she squared up to the woman spewing such slander. 

  
"You have a  **lot**  of nerve speaking to your brother like that." she hissed, her olive eyes narrowing dangerously as they seeked to burn a hole into Goldana's temple. "So help me, if I ever hear you speak ill of him again, I'll take my dagger and see to it you earn _another_ gaping hole in your head. Come, Alistair. It seems this pathetic excuse for a woman is only interested in the contents of your coin satchel."   
  
Bowing his head low, the blonde man shrugged his shoulder and cast her a mournful look.   
"Seems that way, doesn't it? I..I wasn't expecting my sister to be so..." he exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand along his temples as he seeked to rid himself of the tension within; "I'm beginning to wonder why I even bothered..."   
  
"I don't know why you insisted on darkening my door. Whatever you were looking for, you won't find it here! Now, get the hell off my property, both of you!"   
  
"Well, I'd love to stay and chat but you..." Butters said darkly, her glare icy as he met the woman's gaze briefly; "..Are a  **total**  bitch." Thumbing her dagger, the rogue's eyes cut deep into Goldana's own. "If I ever see your face again..." she unshealthed the blade, letting the metal sing as she pointed it meer inches from Goldana's throat.    
  
_ "...I'm cutting it off." _   
  
  


* * *

  
  
The sky was streaked with flashes of red and gold as evening approached Denerim. It was a perfect time of day to sail off on some far-away adventure yet for all the beauty that lay in the sunset on the horizon, there was a marked note of melancholy in the air. Resting her arms atop the thick wooden banistair on the starboard side of the deck, Butters cast her eyes towards Alistair, who was peering down at the men hawling anchor below.   
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" she offered, resting a hand on his back as he stared morosely into the dark waters. He murmured a response and shifted a little, leaning into her for comfort.   
  
"Everyone is out for themselves, Alistair." Butters said quietly, creeping behind him to wind her arms around his waist and rest her head upon his shoulder. "It's a tough fact of life but one you should be aware of."   
  
"I...I guess I was expecting her to welcome me with open arms, no questions about it. Isn't that what family are supposed to do?" he said, his voice little more than a whisper as he placed his own hands over hers, savoring the comforting touch.   
  
"Only the good ones. Hey.." she kissed his nape lightly, her grip tightening just a little more. "...Don't let one rotten apple upset the whole cart."   
  
"I feel like such a fool..."Alistair bowed his head low, his shoulders quivering slightly. Butters released him, moving to turn him towards her before curling her arms around his neck. He slumped against her, knees buckling as the weight of the day's stress encumbered him with a heavy burden.  Hands resting on the rogue's back, he embraced her close to his chest and buried his face in her hair.   
  
"All these years dreaming I might have a family to call my own... I was just kidding myself.."   
  
"Theres still hope, Alistair." Butters looked up at him, giving him a warm smile. "You could always go on and create one of your known. Y'know? Find a fair maiden, fall in love and get married. Maybe have a few rosey-cheeked toddlers chasing after you...a chiuhuahua named Ziggy..."   
  
" _Gods_..." He choked on the word, pulling back to swipe his palm over his eyes; "I'd love nothing more than to live a quiet, peaceful life but I sacrificed that dream when I became a Warden." he sniffled none-too-quietly and leaned back against the rails, staring down at his feet.    
  
"I'm not supposed to talk about what happens when people get conscripted but the jist of it is: I've got maybe thirty years left to live if I'm lucky and thanks to being blessed with the taint of darkspawn blood, there's more chance of Orzammar freezing over than of me being able to bring a child into the world..."   
  
"Maker's breath..!" Butters breathed, rubbing his forearms soothingly; "I'm so sorry, Alistair."   
  
The blonde man bit his lip, hiccoughing slightly. "I try not to think about everything I've had to sacrifice for the cause but I admit... it's a heavy burden to bare." He found himself tracing his index finger along her cheek, trailing down over her jaw until his hand rested against her neck.

  
"Somedays I just want to scream..."   
  
"You have  **me** , Alistair. You're not completely alone in this word." Butters whispered, curling her hand over his and leaning into his touch. He smiled wistfully at her.   
  
"Thank you."   
  
"Think nothing of it." she tilted her head up, angling her jaw as she leaned in to kiss him. Despite wanting to accept the invitation, Alistair's eyes darted quickly to the outline of Malcolm across the deck, his back to them he engaged Leliana in some idle banter about something or other.   
  
"Later..." he murmured, setting her arms by her side with an apologetic look. Butters nodded in understanding, resting herself once more against the wooden rails as she watched him head towards the hammock strung up in one corner, wishing to be alone with his thoughts.   
  
As Butters breathed in the taste of salt in the air, she found herself considering Alistair's words.   
  
She had underestimated just how much they had in common. Both lay swatted in a shroud of mourning- her for the past, for the parents so cruelly snatched away, him for the future he had forsaken against his will. Before she knew it, she tasted salt of an altogether more different kind as tears rolled down her cheeks.   
  
Her heart bled for him.   
  
To be so young and have your future so cruely snatched away, ambitions and dreams reduced to little more than ash- it was _cruel._ Whatever hope left in the ex-templar of leading a semi-normal kind of life was dashed by Goldana's vicious tongue. Even a blind man could see that her rejection cut Alistair right down to the bone.   
  
He was a mournful figure to behold under the eaves of the stairwell, curled up in the hammock on his side as he cried soundlessly in the shadows.   
  
Butters wanted to go to him, to take him in her arms and comfort him but under such close confinements and the ever present glare of the other members of their motley crew, privacy was not an option.    
  
There was no respite for the broken hearted on board the  _ Siren's Call _ .   
  
_ Or the wicked for that matter.. _  Butters thought, looking up as she heard Malcolm's heels click against the wooden boards as he joined her in gazing out towards the setting sun over the Denerim harbour.   
  
"What's eatin' him?" he grunted, nodding towards the bereft templar whimpering softly in the corner; "Looks like a kicked puppy.."   
  
"Lay off the guy. It's been a rough day." Butters retorted, lips pursed in distaste. Her sibling chuckled dryly and rested an arm lightly around her shoulders, pulling her into a one-armed embrace.   
  
"You two've been getting rather chummy lately."   
  
"What's it to you? I find him good company."   
  
"Hmm. Better him than the elf. As irritating as I find the Chantry brat, I must admit you do seem to perk up when he's around." Malcolm sniffed, nudging her slightly. "Even so, I can't say I'm impressed with your choice."   
  
"What choice?" Butters flustered, her cheeks burning red as she waved a dismissive hand; "There's nothing going on with me and Alistair, Malcolm-!"   
  
He stopped her short with a light pinch to the forearm, twisting the inch of flesh just enough to make her squeal. "You're a piss-poor liar, Butters. I've seen the way you look at him. More to the point, I see how you leer at his hind quarters-"   
  
"I don't  **leer** !" the rogue's face was practically purple with mortification, cheeks puffed indignantly; "I just happened to... _glance_ in that general direction!"   
  
" _Riiight_. I know you, Butters. Spill. I know there's something going on. That flustered look on your face this morning told a thousand words."   
  
Exhaling softly, the young rogue groaned and buried her head in her arms, grimacing.    
It was clear from his tone that he was'nt going to ease up until he'd dragged the truth out by any means necessary. She sighed deeply, not in the mood to humour him as she massaged her forehead.   
  
"Would you berate me if I said yes?" her voice was low, exasperated but with a noted pang of worry. As she lifted her jaw to glance at him, she was startled to see something close to a gentle smile upon his rugged features.   
  
The elder warden chuckled and swept his hands over the curve of her skull in a rare show of affection; "Not that there'd be any point in arguing. You always tended to disregard anything I said in the past so why should this be any different?"   
  
"But I thought... I thought you _hated_ Alistair...?"   
  
" **Hate** ?" Malcolm cocked a brow; "Hate's a strong word, sis. I don't hold him in high regards, that much is true. But to say I actually hate the man? No. I find him irritatingly juvenile, spineless, whiny, self-centred and painfully naive. Were it not for his competence with a sword and shield, I would never have given him the time of day."   
  
"Hmm. I'd wager you're getting soft in your old age." Butters chuckled; "Still, I...well, I don't want there to be any tension between us on this trip.."   
  
"You're asking for my blessing?" Malcolm cupped his chin as he contemplated his sibling, slate-coloured eyes wide with surprise. In all the years he'd watch her fool around with the sons of various noblemen, strong-jawed stablehands or exotic dignitaries, she never once showed such interest as to come to him for advice, much less something semblance of approval.   
  
He watched as she bowed her head low, her ears blushing hot pink as she scuffed her feet awkwardly. It wasn't like her to be coy. Stealing a quick glance at the templar in question-who was now up and busying himself helping a crewman wind a lenght of rope around a bollard-Malcolm's brow creased ever so slightly.   
  
"I guess I am.." Butters' murmured, not daring to look at him.   
  
"Do whatever feels right for you, sis." Malcolm said casually, giving her a light squeeze. Her head darted up in alarm, olive eyes growing to the size of saucers at his words.   
  
"Y-You don't mind?!"   
  
"You said it yourself- you're twenty two now. A grown woman. As if I could ever stop you from getting what you want."He petted her hair, planting a light kiss on her scalp; "I just hope he knows I'm fully prepared to further his career as a  _ castratti _  if he tries anything funny."   
  
"Oh, he'd well believe it!" Butters chuckled gently, winding an arm around her brother's waist as a calm smile dimpled the corners of her mouth. "Y'know... I think this is the first time in Maker-knows how many years that we've actually been civil to each other for longer than five minutes."   
  
"As if I had any choice in the matter. You're the only family I have left." His tone was casual but his gaze was heavy; "If I don't look out for you, who will?"   
  
"Alistair might, if you let him."   
  
"That may be the case, but first and foremost, I'm your brother. I may not always know best but I promised Dad I'd do everything I could make sure you go on and lead a happy life." Malcolm exhaled sharply, pushing away the memory of his father's last words he embraced his sister a little tighter. 

"I swore on his deadbed."   
  
"Can we..." Butters' tensed against him, studying his hard features as she watched the bones of his jaw quiver ever so slightly; "...Can we talk about that night?"   
  
"I..." Malcolm shook his head, dropping his arm down to cup her hand in both of his. "I _want_ to, Butters... I'm just not quite there yet. It still pains me, even now."   
  
"I never would've suspected. You're usually so cold and stoic. Frankly, it's a bit freaky seeing you so vulnerable like this!"   
  
"Yeah, well.." he straightened up, running his index under his nose; "...I'm only human. I bleed just the same as the next person. Sure, I hide it a lil' better than most-the battlefield has no place for personal burdens-but it's true- I still hurt from that night."   
  
"That makes two of us." Resting her head on his shoulder, Butters sighed and closed her eyes.    
"All we have is each other.   
  
"Mmm." Malcolm pulled away,his limited supply of empathy all but expended. Holding her at arm's lenght, his face once more fixed itself into a cocky grin. "So, I assume you'll be sharing a cabin with the cheese-eating nug humper?"   
  
"I...Uh..." Butters felt fairly certain her glowing cheeks could be visable from space. "...Maybe."   
  
" _Maybe?_ " the older of the two Couslands cocked a brow; "What, is he not man enough for ya? Can't get it up unless you stick a bucket on his head and swing off the handle?"   
  
"Sh-shut up! We are  **not**  having this conversation!"   
  
"The lady's turned into a  **prude!**  Androste's perky tits, who are you and what have you done with my sister?!"   
  
_ Urgh... why could'nt I have been an only child...? _


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the sailing commence!  
> Also: DRAMA!

**CHAPTER NINE** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ **   
"You seem awfully distant lately, Zevran."   
  
" **Distant** ?" The elf arched an eyebrow in amusement as his gaze met hers; "My dear, I am still _inside_ of you! We can't get much closer than that!"   
  
"That's not what I meant!" Isabella groaned, sitting up against the mass of pillows at her back as pushed the elf off her sweat-soaked body. It had been five days since they set out from the port of Denerim and during the time, the brunette pirate had wasted no time in getting reacquainted with her old friend.   
  
Having spent most of the nights in his pleasurable company, he was often gone before sunrise but today, for whatever reason, he had taken to indulging her pleasure in the hazy light of morning. It was a pleasant surprise but as the hours wore on, Isabella quickly found he was driven to distraction.   
  
"You seem troubled. Unfocused. Hell, for a second there, I thought you were going to give up halfway through! Something's bugging you, Zev. Don't try to deny it."   
  
"Am I really so transparent?" Zevran said with a sigh, brushing wayward strands of silver from his eyes as he rolled onto his back against the feather-stuffed mattress. Rubbing his face as he cast her a sidelong glance, he forced a smile and patted her bare stomach. "Don't trouble yourself, Izzy. It's nothing that concerns you-"   
  
"It's the rogue, isn't it?" Isabella's voice was calm, even and perhaps a little curious.    
  
" _ Margerina _ ? I have no qualms against her-"   
  
"You love her, don't you?"   
  
"I-" the elf moved to speak but found himself at a loss for words. Sitting upright, he propped an elbow on his knee and drummed his fingers against his forehead as he felt it throb with the onset of a headache.    
  
Five days, it had been.    
  
Five days since he watched her sweep into Alistair's cabin with a knowing grin and a burly, eager arm draped around her waist. Hell, at one point, the templar had been so enamoured he had taken to blatantly swinging her over his shoulder, racing to the cabin with a haste that Zevran zealously hoped carried over to his love-making.   
  
Hearing those tell-tale noises-ones they had quickly forgotten to suppress as the days passed- was almost enough to send the elven assassin over the edge. Every gasp, every breathless murmur, every cry of ecstasy stabbed at him like a white-hot dagger to the heart. He wanted to speak out, to run to her, take her in his arms and claim her as his own.   
  
Yet for all the pain and anguish weighing heavy on Zevran's chest, he couldn't bring himself to do it.   
Butters had made her choice.  _ The wrong one. _  He mused bitterly, fingers fisting in his hair as he felt his teeth gnash together. She seemed so relaxed, so at ease with the quick witted templar that he simply couldn't bring himself to destroy her happiness.   
  
And so, Zevran languished in a prison of his own making.    
  
Every night, he crept like a lowly rat into the familiar chambers of the lustful pirate in a bid to escape the crushing sensation in his chest that kept him awake 'til the wee hours. Try as he might, there was no hiding from it- no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, she was not the one he desired and as he met Isabella's dark eyes, a shudder rippled through him.   
  
For the first time in what felt like decades, Zevran felt _cheap_.   
  
"Your silence speaks volumes." she said simply, tucking a lock of his hair behind one of his tapered ears. Lingering for a moment, she traced the gentle curve down to his tattoos, swirling her fingertips across the dark markings until the wince in his face became all too obvious.   
  
"The way you look at her...You never looked at  **me**  with such desperate longing..."   
  
Zevran batted her hand away with more force than he intended, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as he rose sharply, a sudden wave of anger coursing through him. "That is not longing you see, Izzy." he said roughly, retrieving his smallclothes from where they hung draped over the bedside candlestick; "I am merely observing her movements. Like a cobra, primed to strike. She is nothing more than a target. One that will reap a most bountiful reward."   
  
"You're kidding yourself, Zev. If she meant so little to you, you would've slit her throat by now." Isabella's tone was one of mocking amusement, her lips pulled into a cruel smile as she studied her reluctant bedmate; "Face it, boy. You've got it  **bad** ."   
  
"Shut up.You are hopelessly mistaken-!"   
  
"No? It's obvious you care deeply about her but what can you do? She is with another man and the jealousy will drive you mad! What happened to you, Zevran? When did you become so soft and sentimental-"    
  
Isabella's taunting words were swiftly silenced by the sing of metal swiping the air. He moved so fast he was almost a blur and within seconds, he had a hand grasped to her neck, the other pointing the business end of a dagger to her jugular. " _Shut up!_ " he snapped, grip tightening around her just enough to bruise; "Don't you  **dare**  try to figure me out! I am not in love with her! I don't even know the meaning of such silly words!"   
  
"And yet you would be willing to kill me so you could continue to shroud yourself in denial? It's so laughably obvious, Zevran. You are infatuated with the busty wench. The way you glare at Alistair, I'm amazed you haven't shanked him seven ways from Sunday yet!"   
  
"This discussion is  **over** ."    
  
With a flick of the wrist, the blade shot out of his well-trained hand.   
  
**SH-TUNK!**   
  
"AHH!" Isabella squealed in alarm, automatically raising her hands to shield herself. Expecting to see blood pooling from her bare bosom, she was surprised to find herself free of injury. Just beside her left ear, the dagger jutted out from the carved wood headboard, embedded up to the jeweled hilt. Gasping as she struggled to catch her breath, the pirate twisted a hand around it and pulled it away with strenuous effort.   
  
"You'll pay for that...!" she yelled angrily, eyes darting wildly around the room.   
  
But he was already gone...

* * *

  
  
  
Standing out in the dimly-lit hallway, Zevran leaned against an oak beam to catch his breath. He gasped, a hand flying to claw at his bare chest in a futile bid to wrench out his traitorous heart and silence the ache he'd held for far too long.   
  
_ This isn't me! _  He whimpered, sliding down to his knees as his strength deserted him;  _ I'm not supposed to fall in love! I swore an oath to myself! Not after...No.. _  He grimaced, gritting his teeth as his nails bit into the tanned, tattooed flesh of his breast.  _ No, I won't let it take over! Not after Rinna! Creators...! Look where it got me then! I...I can't do it! _   
  
Zevran panted hard, buring his head in his hands as his chest constricted painfully. He knew it would lead to hysteria, that his body would betray him by making him weep over the futility of his unrequited affections. Raking his knuckles across his eyes, he refused to surrender to the hot tears of anguish that threatened to spill and instead, rose unsteadily to his feet.   
  
It was still early in the morning. He was grateful for that- no awkward questions to deal with, no teasing jibes from the man she called brother or the  _ shem _  she took to bed. Breathing hard, the elf rested his head against the smooth wood, eyes closed for just a moment as he struggled to breathe.   
  
It was maddening how one woman could make him feel so helpless.    
  
"Zev?"   
  
_ Shit...! _   
  
"What're you doing' up so early?"Butters' voice was clear as a bell, inquisitive as a plump hand reached to give his bare shoulder a friendly squeeze. With great difficulty, he forced himself to look at her, an empty smile tugging the corners of his mouth.   
  
"Ahh, just feeling a little...uh... _iffy_. Still getting my sea-legs back." he mumbled, hoping she wouldn't catch the turbulent look in his eyes. The raven haired woman chuckled weakly and dropped her hand to her stomach, casting him a sympathetic look.   
  
"That makes two of us. Been feeling kinda nauseous all morning."   
  
"Oh? Not like you to be sea-sick. Alistair's little soldiers have successfully taken the fort, then?"   
He said teasingly, moving to playfully poke her stomach.

  
"What?" she quirked an eyebrow at him. "Wait... _Zevran_!" As the realization dawned on her, she slapped him playfully on the shoulder, her grin caught halfway between impish and alarmed; "Don't  **ever**  joke about something like that!"   
  
"I jest! I jest!" the elf kept his tone light, though he couldn't help feel his nerves fray at the horrid thought. "I hope you two are taking precautions! T'would be a dreadful shame for you to sacrifice your figure!"   
  
"I...I am  **not**  discussing the particulars of my sex life with you!"   
  
"No need. These majestic ears of mine hear much more than you could ever tell!"   
  
"Oooh, you fiend!"   
  
"Fiend? No, no. Just the man unfortunate enough to be housed next to you." He curled his lip into a look of disgust-mocking to a degree. "Have some consideration for your neighbours! Oi! I could barely sleep a wink! You have been teaching that boy far too much in the way of carnal knowledge."   
  
"What can I say?" Butters giggled softly, thumbing her lip as she considered the barely-dressed elf with a knowing grin; "I learned from the master." she poked him lightly in the ribs.   
  
"Ay, that you did!" Zevran's wolfish smirk did not extend to his eyes. Leaning into her touch, he took her hand in his and studied the soft, sinewy lines of the flesh. "So... compared to master and apprentice, which do you find more stimulating?"   
  
"Ohh, no!" she gasped with mock-offense; "I am  **not**  going to answer that!"   
  
"Please,  _ Margerina _ ! I only ask as you've screamed on  **many, many**  occasions how I am the only man who could ever satisfy your lustful urges. I take any rivals to that claim very seriously!"   
His grip tightened slightly-possessively-and he stared hard into her soft green eyes.   
  
"I.. well, you've heard us, right?" Her cheeks turned bright red; "What do you think?"   
  
"Pfft. That boy couldn't find your hot spots with a map and a compass!"    
  
"Oh, hush! You're just jealous, aren't you?" Butters shook her head with amusement, the wispy black locks of her hair swaying ever so slightly. Reaching out to catch a stray, Zevran rolled it around between finger and thumb, his lips quivering as he struggled to uphold the pretense of humor.   
  
"I'd be lying if I said no." Sliding his hand down to cup her chin, the facade fell away as he ran his thumb over her bottom lip. She shivered and the corners of his mouth turned up in a wry smile at the desired effect. "I....I was really hoping we could go back to how we were."   
  
"Zev.." Butters sighed deeply, casting him a regretful expression; "...your timing is _impeccable_ as always." Taking his hand and giving a soft squeeze, she set it by his side and tilted her head at him, a crease appearing above her brow. "I care about you. You know that-"   
  
"Do you love him?" 

  
The question came out rougher than Zevran intended, causing her to flinch slightly. Pursing her lips, she rubbed her temples and let out a long, low sigh of dejection.    
  
"I..." Butters fumbled on the words, unsure of what to tell him. It was true she had found herself falling for the ex-templar's schoolboy charm over the last number of days but to be asked upfront about her feelings, she found herself stumped. Was it a fling? A quick fumble around? A potential long term investment? She couldn't say for definite yet. It was far too early in the day-figuratively and literally- to consider such a serious topic but the look in Zevran's honey-gold eyes was enough to demand an answer.   
  
"We're just enjoying each other's company, Zev. I  **like**  him-"   
  
"But you don't love him?"   
  
"Zevran, please. Don't make this difficult." she groaned, hands fumbling through her hair. Nodding once, the elf leaned forward and kissed the top of her head, holding her in a light embrace for a second too long.   
  
"When you come to a decision..." he whispered against her; "...Don't keep me waiting."   
  
"Zev.." She tried to offer a comforting hug but he simply pulled away from her touch, his expression heavy. Stiffening, he turned to head down the hall, his back a hard line as he hunched with a hidden burden. He could hear her sniffling quietly at his departure and his heart gave a guilty lurch.   
  
_ I am a bad, bad man... _   
  
  
"There you are!" Alistair's voice made Butters' startle, causing her to whirl around so fast she stumbled. Catching her swiftly, the ex-templar held her close to his chest, looking down at her with a bemused expression.   
  
"Heh! Someone's jumpy today!"   
  
"Ahh, sorry." the rogue simpered, relaxing against the taunt, bare muscles before her. He chuckled gently, his strong arms holding her tightly as he craftily maneuvered her towards the door to their cabin. "Come back to bed..." he purred suggestively in her ear, leaning to give her a playful nibble.    
  
Glancing up the hallway, Butters stared intently at the hard line of Zevran's back, scanning over the swirling tribal designs that peppered his tanned skin. Not too long ago, she had taken great delight in tracing them with her fingers, feeling him shiver against her touch and emit low, cat-like mewls of pleasure. Now, though, he seemed only to grunt, his face devoid of mirth and veiled with a sadness imperceptible to all but those who knew him intimately.   
  
"We just spent the last five days in bed, Alistair...!"Butters said exasperatedly, rolling her eyes as she felt him shamelessly cup one of her breasts in a large, burly hand. He was growing rather attached to them lately.   
  
"Funny. You never complained before..!"    
  
"A-Alistair! Please! I need to take a bath a-and wash my hair an-and... _ohhh_..." the rest of her sentence was cut short by a long groan of pleasure when she felt him trail his lips down over the nape of her neck, nibbling ever so gently.   
  
"I'd be more than happy to scrub you down, you  **filthy**  woman, you!" he grinned against her, his free hand resting against her stomach as he tried to pull her backwards through the door. Sighing, she elbowed him roughly in the ribs, causing Alistair to yelp and let go of her long enough to wriggle free.   
  
"No. Bath first." she said autoritively, wagging a finger at him.    
  
"B-but..." he pouted, turning on the puppy eyes. Butters rolled her eyes exasperatedly.  _ Man, when the guy  _ **_really_ ** _  likes something...! _   
  
"Nooo."She pressed a finger to his lips, trying to keep her expression stern- a hard thing to do when met with a gigantic pair of bright, chocolate-brown eyes that could melt even the hardest hearts.   
"I need to go speak with the captain anyhow. We'll be coming up on the Coastlands soon enough and I was considering a detour to Highever."   
  
At that, Alistair's smile dropped. "Ahh. Are you sure about that?"   
  
"Better late than never. I can't keep running from it forever, Alistair." She slid her hand up to cup his cheek, feeling the beginnings of a short beard tickle her skin. He sighed and leaned into her touch, turning just enough to kiss her palm.   
  
"If you think it's best."   
  
"I  **have**  to go back. If not to lay my demons to rest, then at least to make sure my family heirlooms haven't been plundered by unscrupulous grave-robbers."   
  
"What about Malcolm? Have you asked him about it?"   
  
"I would've if you'd just let me get out of bed for five bloody minutes! Maker, Alistair! I swear, you're trying to kill me!" she flicked his ear, pursing her lips in amusement as he squealed in alarm.   
  
"Well, I can certainly think of  **worse**  ways to die!"   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Mumbling as sunlight flooded in through the open window, Malcolm grimaced and flopped an arm over his face to shield his eyes. He'd only gotten to sleep less than an hour past thanks to the antics of his sister and her dubious attempts at subtly.  _ Oi. I did  _ **_not_ ** _  need to hear  _ **_that..!_ ** __ he thought, gagging slightly as he nestled against the pillows against his head.   
  
Something soft brushed against his chest, causing him to peek out from under his arm. A smile crossed his lips. Curled up on his bare chest was a small black cat, barely out of kittenhood, staring intently at him with large amber eyes narrowed to slits. He chuckled low and reached to scritch under its' chin with one burly finger, an eyebrow arched in amusement.   
  
"Y'know, I rather like you like this, Morrigan. So much easier to deal with-"   
  
The cat responded by sinking a set of razor-sharp claws into his left nipple, her purr almost chuckling as he yelled out in alarm. Grabbing the cat by the scruff, Malcolm glared intently.   
  
"Still mad at me, are you? Tsk. Zevran was more than happy to take one for the team. Now stop being a pussy and talk to me before I break out the yarn!" he hissed through his teeth, free hand reaching to thumb away the blood pooling in the wiry fuzz of his chest hair.   
  
The cat hissed sharply, hackles raised as she tried to swipe at the warden but to no avail for he held her at arm's length. Huffing a breath through her nose, the shapeshifter growled and began to shimmer with a soft purple light, form stretching and elongating until it began to slowly morph into that of a human. As the light faded, Malcolm unshielded his eyes to find the shapely form of Morrigan resting against him, her face a picture of irritation.   
  
Coupled with the fact that her hair was free of its' usual tight bun, she was sans makeup and completely naked, she looked positively deranged. "You were so bloody quick to dance to her tune!" she snapped, nails raking down the wound she had inflicted, making him wince as she re-ignited the sting of the claw marks. "You should know better than to anger me!"   
  
"Oh, you are a fiery one!" Malcolm's laugh sounded more like a bark. Grabbing her around the waist, he rolled her to her back, pinning both arms above her with one large, calloused hand. "Are you _really_ so insecure to think I'd accept the next offer that comes handed to me on a silver platter? Stupid woman..." he leaned in to bite the nape of her neck roughly-just how he knew she liked.   
  
"...Don't you know that I  **adore**  you?"   
  
"Hrmph. You have a most peculiar way of showing it." Morrigan snapped, squirming against him as his stubble scratched against her. "You blow so hot and cold. I never can tell- _ahh_!"She gasped in alarm, feeling his free hand pinch her nipple with enough force to bruise.   
  
"Oh, Morrigan. You should know by now I was never one for sap." Malcolm purred against her, moving his hand down to brush against the taut line of her abdomen. "I tell it as it is. Not my fault if you take a little playful ribbing to heart. Isabella does  **nothing**  for me-" he kissed across the fading bruises on her neck from where she'd been throttled almost a week prior; "-I've already told you what I think of you. Still haven't gotten an answer."   
  
"It'll be a cold day in hell before I ever divulge- _Aaahh!_ " She cried out as he bite down hard on her shoulder blade, breaking the skin just enough to coax a tiny spackle of blood to the surface. Shivering with a mixture of pleasure and pain, the witch curled her legs around his waist, trapping him with a vice-like grip. "Bastard!" she muttered, wretching his head up to crush her lips to his.   
  
"Bitch.." he purred in response, hands raking along her body before moving to cup her jaw in both, tilting her head back roughly as he took to nipping and sucking at her bottom lip. Morrigan groaned against him, hating herself for giving so willingly despite her lingering anger but as she felt the heat radiate from his bare chest, feeling the muscles taunten and twitch upon her, it was soon forgotten and she surrendered herself to the coarse touch of her warden...   
  
**Knock-knock!**   
  
"Fuck off...!" Malcolm growled, reaching for a boot at the side of the bed. Without looking, he flung it in the direction of the door, earning a loud yelp of alarm from the intruder.   
  
"Ow! Geez!" Butters groaned, a hand flying to her face as she rubbed an angry red mark on her forehead. Upon seeing the sight before her, however, she blanched and covered her eyes.   
"Uhh... am I interrupting?"   
  
"This better be important!" Morrigan snapped, folding her arms over her large bosom and scowling at the younger woman in her midst.   
  
"Maker, if she managed to pry Alistair off her for five minutes, this  **has**  to be an emergency!" Malcolm quipped sardonically, earning a boot to the chest for his actions.   
  
"Shut up!" Butters snapped, peeking through her fingers. Upon seeing that Morrigan had somewhat managed to cover herself with the bedsheets, she dropped her hand down to rest on her hip and sighed in exasperation. 

"If I could just speak to my brother for a moment, I'll be most grateful."   
  
"You have twenty seconds."   
  
"What is it, sis?" Malcolm grumbled, scooting forward to sit on the edge of the bed.   
  
"I was wondering...we'll be sailing close to Highever this afternoon. Perhaps you'd like to come join me-"   
  
" **No**." The word was weighted with a note of finality, coarse and blunt. It was harsh enough to make the young rogue flinch at the curtness of it.   
  
"Malcolm, _please_. When will we ever get the chance-?"   
  
"I'm not ready to go back there, Butters. Don't press me."   
  
"Please. All I as is we spent one day searching among the ruins for that which we've lost. The thought of grave-robbers plundering the family jewels just doesn't sit well with me, Malcolm. Can we just go home for one day? Can we not save just a tiny piece of our heritage?" Butters' voice was low and wavering, her olive eyes heavy with grief as she cast her brother a pleading expression.   
  
Rubbing his face with both hands, the elder of the two Couslands sighed deeply and tented his fingers. "Howe's men will be looking for us. For you. I can't take that risk."    
  
"Come on! You're friggin'  **Malcolm Cousland!**  A warrior! Like Howe's cronies could ever hope to best you in battle! Stop making excuses! Just come along and reclaim that which was snatched from us by that lowly bastard-!"   
  
"Oh, fine! I'll go-if it'll stop you pestering me." Malcolm rolled his eyes, glancing sidelong at Morrigan. "Be thankful you never had any siblings!"   
  
"Pfft. Knowing Morrigan, she probably ate them..." Butters quipped dryly.   
  
"How very eloquent." the witch said with an air of disinterest, yawning theatrically. Settling down against the mass of pillows threatening to devour the bed, she cocked her head at Malcolm in an inquisitive gesture. "You are certain of this plan of action?"   
  
"She won't stop 'til she wears me down completely, Mo'. Best to just give her what she wants before she starts sulking-"   
  
"I do  **not**  sulk!" Butters snapped indignantly, cheeks puffing with mild annoyance; "This is important! It'll be a long time yet before we get the chance to come back here so we best make the most of what little we have time afforded to us."   
  
"I agree!" Morrigan said impishly, scooting forward to wrap her arms around Malcolm's shoulders and drag him backwards across the bed. "Now, unless you wish to be traumatised by the sight of us fornicating, I implore you to return once more to your amourous templar. He's most likely clawing the door down in a bid to get his grubby little hands upon you."   
  
"Urgh. Save me before he rattles something  **loose** !"   
  
"Thats..." Malcolm grimaced, visible gagging; "...a very disturbing mental image, Butters."   
  
The young rogue smirked wickedly, slinking out of the doorway and shooting them both a sly grin. "And long may it stay buried in your craniums!" Chuckling awkwardly to herself, she left them to their own devices and sauntered down the hall, inwardly blanching at the thought of the gruesome twosome getting up to allsorts of 'shenanigans'.   
  
Feeling nausea swelling up from the depths of her throat, she tried to swallow it back but found the current was stronger than she anticipated. Startled by its' intensity, Butters all but sprinted to the upper deck, barely getting to the rails on time before she threw up over the side.   
  
The nausea that had plagued most of what little sleep she'd managed to steal the previous night had finally caught up to her. Knees trembling, she heaved violently, all the food she'd eaten in the last week coming back to haunt her as she emptied the contents of her stomach over the edge of the ship. Hearing it splash into the tide was almost enough to make her heave even harder but instead, she simply sank to her knees, shaking as tremors rocked through her.   
  
_ Urgh... I've never been so deeply stricken by sea-sickness...! _  she thought weakly, slowly rising to her feet and rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand.   
  
Turning slowly towards the direction of the washroom, she was momentarily startled to see Leliana stood before her, her face marred by lines of worry. At her side was Dogmeat, who appeared to have a large rabbit dangling half-way out of his mouth.   
  
"Maker, are you alright?" she said, concern peppering her heavily accented voice. Grimacing, Butters clutched a hand to her stomach, feeling it churn uncomfortably.    
  
"I'll be fine. I've never been seasick in my life but it was only a matter of time-"   
  
"Butters." Leliana's gaze was piercing, her deep blue eyes boring into the young rogue until she felt certain a hole might burn clean through her skull. Before she could protest, the bard had placed a hand just above her pelvis, pressing firm against the curve of her abdomen.   
  
"L-Lee! What're you  **doing-** ?!"Butters squealed in alarm, feeling her gut lurch as the red-haired woman continued to poke and prod at the tender spot.   
  
"Still tasting pennies?" her voice was clipped, to the point and oddly clinical for the normally perky Orlesian bard. Arching an eyebrow in utter bewilderment, Butters swatted her hand away and stared at her.   
  
"What in the name of the Creator are you on about, Leliana?"   
  
"Pennies. You mentioned something about having a metallic taste in your mouth just before we left port, no?"   
  
"Ahh, yeah. Still bugging me, actually. What's that got to do with anything?"   
  
"And you've been craving sweet fruits, yes?" A smile flickered across the bard's face, making her look almost demented as it spread to show her teeth. Backing away slightly, Butters emitted a nervous laugh, patting her leg to have her mabari act as a buffer between them.   
  
"I-Leliana, what the heck is going on? Why're you-?"   
  
"When was your last Blight?"   
  
"My  **what** ?"   
  
The bard drew herself up to full height, folding her arms over her chest. She cast Butters a bemused look. "Y'know, your  **monthly**  Blight. Menses. Your last bleed."   
  
Blinking, Butters moved to scratch at the back of her head, utter confusion etched upon her face.   
"Really, Leliana. I've no idea what you're talking about!"   
  
"Hrrm. Seeing that you're in an intimate relationship I think maybe I should tell you where babies come from." The bard said exasperatedly, rolling her eyes.    
"I know the teachings of the Chantry says that you dream about your children and the good Fade spirits take them out of the Fade and embibe them within your womb...but that's not true. Actually what happens is that when a man and a woman get roaring drunk and-"   
  
Face draining of colour, Butters' hands flew to her face as the realisation of the bard's words finally dawned on her.   
" **Androste's flaming sword! I know where babies come from!** "   
  
"Are you quite certain?" Leliana thumbed her lip in thought, sweeping her eyes over the rogue's shapely figure. Feeling her gaze, Butters pulled at the hem of the oversized shirt she'd taken from Alistair, tugging it down over her knees as a wave of self-consciousness overcame her.   
  
"What are you suggesting, Leliana? That I'm..." she nearly gagged on the word; "... **pregnant** ?!"   
  
"That's  **exactly**  what I'm suggesting, dear. Have you not had any suspicions of your own? The copper taste, the cravings for strawberries, the heightened sense of desire? They all point to one joyous conclusion!" the bard said chirply, seemingly revelling in the look of abject horror on the raven haired woman's face.   
  
"Joyous?  **Joyous?!**  No, no, no! No, Leliana! You've got to be _fucking joking_!"   
  
"You never answered my question, dear. Your last monthly cycle?"   
  
"I-!" And then Butters remembered.    
  
It had been too long since she last felt that deplorable stab of pain in her abdomen, the smell of blood singing in her nostrils. At first, she dismissed it as stress wreaking havoc on her hormones, the trauma of the past weeks doing strange things to her body, messing up the harmony of her system.   
Yet, the more she thought on it, the more panic began to settle in. If her maths were right -and going by how much her father had paid for a tutor, they damn well better be!-, it would've been twelve weeks since her last-   
  
A hand flew to her mouth, silencing the horrified cry within.   
  
"Oh, sweet Maker, _no_...!"   
  
"I take it this is not a happy occasion?" Leliana offered, brows knitted with worry as she watched the young rogue slump to her knees. Placing a hand on her shoulder, the bard crouched down on her haunches, eyes wide with concern.   
  
"Butters...?"   
  
"Zevran...I'm going to  **fucking castrate**  him-!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of Duncan here! Also, angst, action and whatnot.  
> Just two more chapters to go...

**CHAPTER TEN**

  
Butter's breathing came in short, sharp bursts. Perched upon the slotted wooden bench of the ship's communal washroom, she sat hunched over with her head in her hands, shoulder convulsing with the last of the strangled sobs that had wracked her body for what felt like hours.   
Whimpering, she wiped the tears from her eyes on the back of her hands and stiffened, getting unsteadily to her feet as she moved towards the ornate mirror taking up most of the wall space.   
  
Having fled Leliana's relentless questioning, she had taken to hiding out among the rows of gilded bronze tubs, the anger she'd initially felt giving way to panic, then all encompassing hysteria before she found herself at the mercy of her tears.   
  
Stripped of Alistair's cosy linen shirt, Butters stood naked and vulnerable before her reflection, scrutinizing it with a haughty glare. A stout, chubby woman stared back at her as her hands braced against the wrought-iron frame, knuckles whitening from the exertion.   
  
Her skin was paler than usual, sallow and dull and it felt at least two sizes too big for her frame. Sliding a hand down to her stomach, Butters studied it with fierce intensity, searching for any tell-tale signs. She looked as she always did- plump, round and blessed with what Zevran had affectionately dubbed a "party belly".   
  
The thought made a bitter laugh escape her.   
  
Drumming her fingers over the fleshy mound of fat cushioning her abdomen, she turned sideways, cocking her head as she scanned over her reflection, taking in her profile.   
  
_ Hmm... I don't  _ **_look_ ** _  pregnant... _  she thought to herself, a crinkle appearing in her brow as she pulled the skin taut over her belly, sweeping over the outline of the muscle.    
It felt firm, semi-rigid and oddly warmer than the rest of her body.   
  
As she poked and prodded lightly at her navel, she was so absorbed in the exploration of her soon-to-be-changing belly that she didn't notice when a tall, willowy figure cast a shadow before her.   
  
"Searching for buried treasure?" Alistair chuckled huskily in her ear, causing her to squeal as he wrapped his arms around her waist and placed his hand over hers. Frowning at the reflection of him, she sighed and leaned back into his chest, her fingers tensing beneath him.   
  
"Maker help me, I've created a monster!" she groaned, wincing at how hoarse her voice sounded.    
  
Twisting her around to face him, the ex-templar looked at her with a curious expression, reaching to gently cup her chin. "Have you been crying..?" he said softly, the lecherous grin he had taken to wearing these past few days dropping into a thin line of concern.    
Butters chuckled awkwardly, averting her gaze as she wound her arms around that toned torso of his and held him close, suddenly thankful to have someone keep her steady amid the turbulence swelling within.   
  
"Sorry... just thinking about home.." she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder as he stroked her back soothingly. Kissing the top of her head, the blonde man lifted her up with surprisingly little effort and walked towards one of the larger tubs near the corner.   
  
It looked more like a disused wine vat than a bath, though it was filled with invitingly warm water instead of liquid mayhem. Small wooden steps lead down into the tub and as she felt the sweet, citrus-scented heat roll over her, Butters gave a long sigh.   
  
"If you're having second thoughts about it, we can always keep sailing-" Alistair started, grabbing a loofah from nearby to gently wash her back.   
  
"No, no.. it's fine. I'm just a little...anxious." she murmured, closing her eyes as she felt him wash away the dirt, grime and other stains of a questionable nature from her skin.    
  
"I spent so long trying to get as far away from Highever as possible. Feels there's nothing left there for me but pain and heartache. Even so, I can't turn my back on my birthright. I'm still a teryna, if not by house then by blood-I might be able to pull some strings, call in a few favors and get a few more troops rallying behind us."   
  
"Well, that's good." Alistair said warmly, running his fingers over her shoulders and neck, gently kneading out the knots in the flesh and making her purr with appreciation.    
  
The sound made his hips twitch.    
  
"We need all the help we can get if we're to stand any chance of ending the Blight. Even so, there's no denying how much this trip pains you." He dropped his hands down to her waist, embracing her from behind and nestling his chin in the nape of her neck. "As long as you're certain..."   
  
"I am. I need this. It...it would help with the healing process, I guess." Butters leaned back against him, resting her hands over his. He was such a good man-kind, considerate, loyal to a fault and always good for a comforting cuddle or two. A grimace flashed momentarily across her face.   
  
If he knew what lay beneath his tender fingers, within her womb...it would destroy him completely.   
  
Butters scrunched her eyes shut, moving to rub her temples. Sensing the tension in her, Alistair turned her towards him, seating her in his lap. "Y'know.." he smiled weakly, sadness in his eyes; "Duncan came from Highever. I was wondering if... well, if we had time, maybe we could look for his family? He never really spoke much about his life before he joined the Grey Wardens but I always remembered that-"   
  
"What was his last name?" Butters whispered, resting her forehead against his as she wound her arms around his neck. "He might've been chummy with my father."   
  
Glancing up to the ceiling in contemplation, Alistair screwed his face up adorably as he tried to think. "Hmmm... I think it was MacLynn...MacLenin...  **MacLeod** ! That's it! Duncan MacLeod of Highever!"Looking eagerly into Butter's inquisitive eyes, Alistair held her a little tighter, encouraged by the notion she might offer some insight into the man he'd come to regard as a surrogate father.   
  
Thumbing her chin in thought, Butters pondered for a moment.    
"Tall man? Dark hair, beard, softly spoken, had a dreadful weakness for chocolate cream buns?"   
  
"Yes!" Alistair chuckled, the noise rumbling in his chest; "He was rather fond of pastries now that I think of it. It was funny- he used to joke that the whole reason he grew a beard was so he could save some for later!"   
  
She made a face, emitting a half-hearted chuckle. "I only met him once but he made a rather distinct impression on me. It was the night before...well. Before  **that**  night. He'd come to the castle to discuss rallying the troops with my father and had asked for the grand tour. I recall he had a keen interest in the family armoury." she smiled at the memory.   


 

* * *

  
  
_   
_ _ "And this here's my ancestral sword, Ser Warden." Pointing to the ornate weapon resting neatly on a large stone plint in the centre of the room, Butters watched as the softly spoken man crossed the room with his hands folded neatly behind his back, a look of keen interest upon his lined features. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Eight generations of Couslands have wielded it in battle and yet it has never dulled. Still sharp as the day it was forged!" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Most intriguing. It is largely unheard of to find a sword outlasting its' owner. Do tell me: why is it that it languishes in the shadows when it would be more at home in the hands of your father, utilized to the full extent of its' purpose?" Duncan queried, running a steel-plated hand over the length of the tang, sparks flying up as metal sang against metal. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "I've often wondered myself, Ser Warden. My father once told me he hoped to pass it to my eldest brother. He did not wish to risk losing it in battle and so he stored it here in the hopes that someday, Malcolm would seem fit to wield it with the courage of his forefathers." Butters said reverently, her eyes running over the intricate carvings of the hilt, made of a mysterious bone and adorned with shimmering rubies. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ A low chuckle resounded from the dark haired warden as he took the sword in his hand, feeling its' weight in his palm before making a few swooping movements. "With all due respect, dear lady, I have seen your brother's skill in battle and conclude he has all the grace and finesse of a stuck pig." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Against her better nature, Butters emitted a high-pitched giggle, a hand flying to her mouth to stifle them. "Oh, that's not very nice!" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "T'is the truth. Still, what he lacks in elegance, he makes up for in sheer strength. Even so, a man's worth is measured not by the size of his biceps or the sharpness of the weapon in his hand but by the strength of his valour." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "That's.. very profound, Ser Warden." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Please, dear;" he smiled affectionately at the raven haired woman in his midst; "Do call me Duncan. I care little for such stuffy formalities." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "As you wish, ser-er... Duncan. Come. You haven't seen the kitchens yet, I take it? I hear Cookie recently received a shipment of fine Orlesian pastries-!" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Oooh, you wicked temptress! Trying to sway a pious man down a dark and dangerous path lined with sugary delights!" his laughter echoed through the armoury, a deep, resonant sound. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Yes, yes! That's it!" Butters cackled merrily, flipping long waves of ebony over her shoulders as she escorted the esteemed Warden Commander down the hallway.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Give yourself over to the dark side! We have  _ **_donuts!"_ **   
  


* * *

  
  
"He damn nearly ate us out of house and home!" Butters chuckled, smiling at the memory of the normally stoic warden filled with childlike wonderment upon seeing the array of sweet cakes and confectionary laid out before him. Shaking her head, the young rogue nestled against Alistair's chest, sighing with contentment.   
  
"I can now see why you think so highly of him. He was such an affable man. He didn't say much but when he did, it was usually to speak the most profound wisdom or, when the ale started flowing, the most outright perverse jokes!"   
  
"That's Duncan alright." Alistair pressed a light kiss to her lips, smiling against her.    
"That's one thing Howe, Loghain or any unholy abomination can ever take from us: our memories."   
  
She nodded, letting her eyelids flutter shut for a moment.   
"For that, I'm most grateful."   
  
Cupping her head with both hands, Alistair leaned in just enough to deepen the kiss.   
"Mmm. I rather hope in time.." he whispered, brushing the tip of his tongue against her; "...We can perhaps make some memories of our own."   
  
Despite her dissipating unease, Butters gave into his daring advances more so to soothe the tension in her own body than elicit any pleasure in his. Even so, as she felt him brush against her thigh with a now familiar urgency, she couldn't help feel a little shiver of delight course through her.   
  
"Alistair..." she breathed, pushing against his chest. He groaned, frowning slightly.   
  
"Sorry. Sorry. I swear, this  **thing** ;" he peeked down at his lap through the water, blushing; "Has a life of its own!"   
  
"It's not that..." she murmured, moving to trace her fingertips over the sharp, angled contours of his jaw. "I just..." she sighed, the words faltering on her tongue.  _ No. It's far too soon. I don't even know for sure yet... _  He peered at her with wonderment in his deep brown eyes.   
  
"Something wrong?"   
  
She forced a wry smile, kissing him once-chaste- before parting ways.    
"No, Alistair." she cast him a soulful look over her shoulder as she pulled herself out of the tub;    
  
"Nothing at all..."   
  
  
It was high noon by the time the  _ Siren's Call _  docked in Highever port.    
  
Without a moment's hesitation, Butters had insisted on leading the party on a pilgrimage to the castle that overlooked the rocky coastland, refusing to take no for an answer. And so it was, the motley gang of miscreants, malecifors and murderers took to hiking up the long, winding path to the house of Cousland.   
  
By the time they'd finally scaled the perilously high sea-front stairway, the sun was blazing high in the cloudless sky, puckering their exposed skin an angry red and making them all sweat indiscriminately.   
  
"Maker, can we _rest...?!_ " Leliana gasped, hunched over and clutching her knees as her muscles burned with exertion. Cocking a brow, Butters folded her arms over her chest and pursed her lips.   
  
"It's only a hundred steps, Lee! Getting slow in your old age, eh?" she teased, chuckling.   
  
" **Only**  a hundred?!" Alistair gasped, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as his face turned a worrying shade of purple with the effort of hauling a heavy pack of supplies halfway up a cliff. Shaking his head, Malcolm cast his sister a bewildered glance and they both shrugged in unison, clearly used to the long climb after years of experience.   
  
The rocky stairwell lead up into a long, sweeping field that had fallen into disrepair, the deep emerald blades of grass surpassing knee height and making it difficult to navigate. Just beyond the expanse of greenery, a gentle hill rose a little off to the distance, upon which sat the unmistakable silhouette of Castle Cousland.   
  
Butters felt her stomach lurch uncomfortably. From nerves or an unwelcome guest, she couldn't say for certain. All she knew was that looking upon the towering turrets of her ancestral home, taking in the charred black granite and the jagged edges of broken glass panes was enough to fill her with intense dread.   
  
Sensing her unease, Malcolm rested a hand upon her shoulder, looking down at her with a hard expression. "This was a bad idea.."   
  
"We've come all this way, Malc. No use turning back now." her voice sounded oddly hollow, alien as though it was not her who had spoken but a poor imitator.    
  
Stiffening, she exhaled deeply and lead the way through the tall grass, swiping a path to the castle with a few swift swings of her dagger. In no time at all, they were at the steps.    
Once, the gigantic twin oak doors had been adorned with ribbons and flowers to mark the summer solstice festivities but now, the wood was cracked and splintered, painted black by a thin layer of ash, the once gleaming silver embroidery chipped and rusted in places.   
  
Hand hovering over the splintered oak, Butters hesitated, afraid of what might lie beyond those doors. She strained her ears for just a moment, listening for any signs of movement-friend or foe alike-but finding only silence. Shoulders slumping, she leaned forward, pushing the door with as much strength as she could muster.   
  
The door scraped open with a deafening screech of metal buffers on stone and she winced before gasping as she met a fierce resistance halfway through. The door jammed against something and as she cautiously poked her head through the tight gap, she found it was a pile of rubble from where part of the roof had caved in.   
  
"What's the hold up?" Malcolm grunted, trudging up the steps towards her.   
  
"Front door's blocked. You think we might still be able to get in by the service enter-"   
  
**"Halt!"**   
  
Jumping, the two Cousland siblings spun on their feet at the sound of the gruff noise, closely followed by the sing of metal in the air as they each drew their weapons.    
From an arch in one of the second floor towers, a tall, stocky man with a shock of copper hair sneered down from his perch, sword at the ready.   
  
"There is nothing for you here. Turn around and leave now and things will not get messy-!"   
  
" **Rory** ?!" Malcolm choked incredulously, his eyes widening as he craned his neck; "Dip me in chocolate and fuck me sideways, you're still  **alive** ?!"   
  
The red-haired soldier lowered his sword an inch, sneer dropping into a mollified gaup.    
"I should say the same to you, Malcolm! By the Creators, you gave me quite a fright! Hold on-" he disappeared from view momentarily only to return with a rope ladder he swung over the side of the window arch.   
  
Arching an eyebrow, Zevran cast a questioning glance at Butters, stroking his chin thoughtfully.   
"Friend of yours?" he queried lightly. Unable to keep herself from glowering, Butters could only grunt in reply, turning her nose up before getting back to ignoring him as she did for the most part of the day.   
  
His very presence was enough to reignite the anger in her but she'd be damned if she dared make a scene out in public like this.   
  
Swinging his legs over the stone arch, Malcolm clamped a hand over Rory's back, letting a whoop of triumph escape him as they hugged like old friends. "Rory Gilmore, you magnificent bastard! How goes it?!" he said with a cackle, clearly overjoyed to be reunited with a childhood friend.   
  
The red-haired man chuckled, patting his shoulder with an almost brotherly affection. "Well, aside from fending off bandits, thieves and opportunists with little more than a pointy stick and really big dog, I'm just  **bloody**  peachy!"   
  
"Rory!" Butters called up, shielding her eyes as the sun glared off the few remaining window panels; "Maker's breath, it's good to see you're still in one piece!"   
  
The next few minutes were spent with the party craftily scaling the turret, turning out into the second floor study of the castle. Butters breathed unsteadily. It was virtually untouched from before, the smell of dust, mothballs and antiquity filling her lungs with a familiar, earthy scent.   
  
Moving towards the large circular desk that took up most of the floor, she swept her hands over the wood and sighed deeply.   
  
"Nice to see some of the the old life still survives..." she murmured, a knot tightening in her throat.   
  
Rory nodded, leaning against the desk as he considered his old friend with sympathy.   
"Aye, we managed to keep the fire contained to a certain extent but the castle's structural integrity is questionable. If I were you, I'd steer clear of the third floor-the steelworks all but melted. Nearly met my Maker the other day when the floor caved in!"   
  
"Did anyone else escape?" Malcolm queried, rolling a polished stone paperweight around in his hands as he took in the sight of his father's old study.    
  
To the unknowing eye, it appeared to be a typical nobleman's office- floor-to-ceiling bookcases housing all the old classics, some dog-eared maps and a few copies-the elder warden smirked at the sight of them still intact- of  _ Ferelden Blue _  stacked haphazardly in one corner, the scantily clad Dwarven wenches on the corner tastefully obscured by the moth-eaten curtains.   
  
Rory sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Just myself, I'm afraid. And the Zigster..." at the sound of its' name, a large, rust-coloured mabari peered out from under the desk, giving a mournful howl as the red-headed knight petted her gently.   
  
"Ziggy..."Butters smiled in spite of the tightness in her chest.    
If it hadn't been for the vigilant barks of her and her young pup Dogmeat, she might be languishing in a shallow grave by now. A shudder rippled through her at the thought but she braced herself on the desk, eager to keep calm as the words forced their way out of her mouth.   
  
"My parents...?"   
  
"They lay intered the family crypt, milady." Rory said quietly, a permanent wrinkle creasing his forehead; "I...I am unaware of their wishes and thus, I left their remains within those hallowed halls." A wry smile tugged the corners of his lips; "I lay in hope you might return. Perhaps they could have a proper send off."   
  
"Thank you, Rory." Malcolm said sincerely, swinging an arm over the other man's shoulder in a rare display of friendship; "They would be honored by your care and consideration."    
  
Glancing towards the door at the furthest end of the study, he pursed his lips in doubt.   
"Can we still access the main halls?"   
  
"Not unless you fancy moving a good ton or two of rubble. The third floor is dangerously close to caving in completely but I managed to get a few loadbarers in to prop up the rafters. This floor managed to escape relatively intact but the ground floor's been besieged by thieves and graverobbers. It's...it's been an _utter nightmare._ " Rory slumped, weariness evident on his features; "I'm just one man with a mabari and a blunting sword. It won't be long before I'm completely overcome. Every night, those heartless bastards try to storm the gates-"   
  
"Rory." Butters placed a hand over his, her gaze darkened. "Was anything taken?"   
  
"Just a few ceremonial shields from the great hall and a small sum of money. They're getting a touch more daring, though. Last time 'round, they were hurtling firebombs through the window. Nearly had a damned heart attack!"   
  
"Then we'll give those thieving bastards what for!" Malcolm punched his hand with steely determination; "We'll show 'em exactly what happens when they fuck with the Couslands!"   
  
Rolling her eyes, Morrigan gave a low sniff of irritance.    
"Surely, you can't be serious." she stated, folding her arms over her chest; "Defending a burnt-out old ruin from a merry bunch of fools? Whatever next? Are we to be rescuing kittens from trees and baking pies for blind orphans?"   
  
"I don't expect you to understand, Mo'." Malcolm retorted sharply, narrowing his eyes; "But I  **do**  expect you to head up the offense."   
  
"Typical." The witch shook her head, rolling her eyes; "Fine, I shall inflict fire and brimstone down on those who seek to rob this decrepit ruin of its' spoils. And  **don't**  call me Mo'!" She cocked a brow; "T'is most unbecoming!"   
  
"Sure thing..." Malcolm smirked wolfishly; "...as long as you don't call me 'Shirley'."   
  
"What's the damage?" Alistair queried, thumbing his chin as he leaned against the windowsill.   
  
"Dining hall's a write off. Game room's been heavily hit, as have the servant quarters and much of the kitchens. I haven't be able to get to the armoury due to the rubble but I'm fairly certain it remains untouched." Rory said flatly, raking a hand through his mop of rust-coloured hair.   
  
"How certain?" Butters said edgily, brows knitted as she glanced towards the doorway. 

  
_ Maker, if they took our family heirlooms-! _   
  
"Hmm. I can't really say, milady. The only way I can see of getting to the lower parts of the castle is if we take the servant routes but most are either blocked through or on the verge of collapse. I need not mention the bodies still rotting..."the knight swallowed hard as he stood from the desk fists clenched at his side.    
  
Striding across the room, he twisted the door handle and tugged it open. The heavy oak door dragged against the carpet, sticking in places before finally opening onto a debris strewn corridor that was a world away from the perfectly preserved order of the study.   
  
"How long have you lived like this?" Butter's voice was soft, sorrowful as she petted his shoulder soothingly. The knight's smile was more like a grimace.   
  
"Since the fires burnt out. Close to three months now." He sighed deeply. " If I don't defend the castle, then it will fall to ruin. I owe it to you and your family to defend it to my last breath." Rory leaned against the door frame, cutting a wary figure. Butters shook her head. He was a shadow of the man she had come to regard as a brother. Once burly and stocky in stature, he was now painfully thin, his light leather armour gapping at the neck, far too loose.   
  
"Maker..."She reached up to pat his cheek. Where there should've been a cherubic mess of plump, pink flesh, jutting bones and hard, sharp angles greeted her. She winced. "You look thin."   
  
"I'll be alright. We've more pressing matters to attend to." Glancing over the rogue's shoulder towards the window, the knight frowned deeply as he caught the onset of rainclouds on the horizon.   
"Won't be long before the attacks start. As soon as the sky darkens, they circle like vultures to carrion. Unrelenting."   
  
"This will be your last battle, Rory." Malcolm unsheathed his sword, swirling it confidently.   
  
"Tonight, we will show them the full extent of our mercy-of which, I assure you, there is _none_."   
  
  


* * *

  
Walking along the dust-covered corridor of the second floor, Butters felt the full weight of her grief bearing down on her shoulders. Though the worst of it had dulled with time, it still clutched at her heart, tight and hot, refusing to release her long enough to breath without rasping.    
Footfalls muffled by the thick layer of ashes coating the floorboards, she walked in no particular direction, too restless to lie in wait in the study with the rest of the party whilst Malcolm and Rory discussed strategies.   
  
Dogmeat churred to her left, Ziggy by her right and in mournful silence, she roamed the halls assessing the damage as she went. Evidence of the chaos was clear to see- furniture lay splintered and broken across the hallway, tapestries ripped and askew, the plaster beneath scorched by flames.   
She was hesitant to check the rooms she past, fearful of what she might find within. Even so, she could tell without looking that the stench of death lingered.   
  
Rory had done his best to clear the castle of the corpses-bodies of people she'd held near and dear and some she'd barely spoken more than two sentences to in her entire life. Regardless, they had all fallen to the indiscriminate sword of Howe and the ensuing flames that had threaten to cleanse the Cousland legacy from existence.   
  
Clutching Malcolm's wolf pelt cloak tighter around herself, Butters felt a desperate chill pierce through her. Her eyes snapped up abruptly as she slowed her steps. A croak escaped her lips as she read the singed sign on the door before her-it was in her own scripture, the pale wood charred by smoke, the name almost fully hidden from view.   
  
With a trembling hand, she brushed the dust away and choked back an anguished cry.   
  
_ Oren. _   
  
Sucking in a rasping breath, she pushed the door open hesitantly, as though fearful some unholy demon might lurk beyond and drag her down to the blackened depths of hell. Instead, only silence greeted her, an eerie stillness in a room that once shook with childish exuberance and hearty laughter.    
  
She stepped through the frame, fingers digging hard into the coarse brown pelt as her eyes searched the smoke-blackened walls of her nephew's bedroom. She choked back a sob, gaze falling to the dark spot on the floor-nothing would ever remove the stain of Oren's blood from the formerly pale stone.   
  
Looking around at the toys, trinkets and teddy bears gathering dust upon the shelves, she found herself perched upon his bed, rocking back and forth as she clutched one of his shirts in her hand. Lifting the soft blue cotton to her face, Butters inhaled deeply, wanting to ingrain the child's scent forever on her memory- to blast away that hellish vision of the young boy lying broken and bloodied on the floor.   
  
It all came rushing back to her in that moment, when the scent of him flooded her senses.   
  
She remembered how she kicked in the door, frantic to save him but ultimately too late. She remembered how she held him nestled against her chest, stroking his dark hair and whispering soothing words as he lay dying. She remembered the rasp, that horrific gurgle from his slashed throat as he took in his final breath.   
  
She remembered how he cooled in her arms, falling silent as death took him on swift wings to meet his Maker much too soon.   
  
Strong arms wound around her shoulders, holding her close as she openly sobbed, the tears flowing with such intensity that they choked her of air. Her body convulsed and those strong arms tightened their grip. A hand flew to her hair, stroking it gently as lips pressed to her cheek.   
  
_ "Margarina .. shh ... Yo estoy aquí .. yo estoy aquí..." _   
  
Inwardly, Butters cursed.    
  
It was hard enough feeling so wretched without him there to cushion the blow.   
Try as she might, she just couldn't muster the strength to shrug him off and instead, resigned herself to his presence, sobbing in his arms until she was left bereft of tears. Zevran's hands traced slow patterns over her heaving back,  pulling her close as he rested his cheek against her head.   
  
"He was just a boy.." she managed to choke out, her voice hopelessly ragged, hoarse from the shuddering sobs that wracked her to the point of physical pain. "...Never hurt anyone...why..?"   
  
"Sshh..." the elf slid his hands over her shoulders, over the curve of her neck to cup her head in both hands, gazing at her with deepest sympathy in his honey-gold eyes. His heart ached for her. He knew all too well how much tragedy had befelled her on that one torturous night but as he sat holding her in the room she'd sworn never again to visit, only now did the gravity of her grief hit him.   
  
Zevran wasn't accustomed to dealing with a lady in mourning. Sure, he had his fair share of comforting those who suffered the burden of loneliness, trapped in lacklustre marriages or simply bored of their partners. But this... this was something entirely different and as he found himself leaning towards her, he wondered then if he should employ the same tactic as he always did.   
  
Before he could make sense of himself, Zevran's lips were upon her, pressing chastly against the corner of her mouth. Butters let out a tiny noise but it was hard to tell if she was protesting.   
  
Against her better judgement, she found herself responding as his familiar warmth swirled around her, reminding her of those warm nights in Antiva. The smell of sand, sweat and sambuca.   
His hands slid through her hair, caressing her with a gentleness that shocked her. Wincing, her lips moved traitorously and she found herself longing to feel his tongue swirl against her own- if only for a moment.   
  
A low moan forced its' way out, startling her.    
  
At the sound, Zevran drew back, a hand flying to his lips as he averted her gaze.   
"Forgive me...I-I know not what I do..." he murmured awkwardly,  his face a picture of conflict.   
  
Drawing in her bottom lip, Butters found herself running a finger along the silvery strands of the braids by his temples. Before she knew it, her hands became entangled in his hair and she was pulling him towards her, kissing him with a renewed, desperate vigor that threatened to consume her completely.   
  
Stunned, Zevran hardly dared to move or close his eyes, afraid he would be unable to hold back as he tasted her upon him. Traces of the blueberries she'd ate for lunch, orange juice: familiar sweetness upon her lips, mingled with the salt of her tears.   
  
With substantial effort, he placed his hands on her shoulders and slowly, reluctantly, pulled her away to hold her at arm's length. "I-I'm sorry."   
  
"We are both to blame.." the raven haired rogue murmured, watching as he swiftly rose to his feet and moved towards the door. "Zevran..."   
  
"I..." What could he say? Only tired old cliches sprang to mind. Any words of comfort he could offer were lost under the haze of passion brought about by her desperate kiss. Scrunching his eyes shut, the elf exhaled through his nostrils and turned towards her, extending a trembling hand.   
  
"The others will worry. Come." his voice was stilted, nervous even and as Butters took it hesitantly, she noticed he looked almost as drawn and gaunt as Rory did. Dark circles ringed his eyes and his normally rich, tanned skin seemed to have lost some of its' lustre. She gave him a light squeeze and he smiled very subtly, twinning his fingers with hers for just a moment before letting go, all but striding from the room as the nerves proved too much.   
  
Standing in that empty room, surrounded by ghosts of the past, Butters gave once final sob as a hand rested against her stomach. She had lost so much-what else was there left to gain?   
  
That's when she felt it.   
  
A tiny flicker of life.   
  
A single kick, tiny but strong, against her palm.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

[ **C** ](https://shastania.deviantart.com/art/Salted-Butter-Chp-11-166480371) **HAPTER ELEVEN**   
  
Night fell swiftly upon Highever, the haste of the approaching night startling the young rogue.    
Under guise of feeling "faint" -not as far from the truth as she might think-, she had taken to spending most of the evening lying upon the four-poster of her old bedroom, somewhat pleased to see it had survived the siege intact. Yet despite the cosy, familiar surroundings, she could find no peace within those four walls.   
  
Her mind was still reeling from the stress of the day, the grief and pain of confronting the ghosts of the past, Zevran's kiss...   
  
And that kick.    
  
That minuscule, almost imperceptible movement just below her navel.    
  
For a time, there was only a stillness that lulled her into a false sense of security. Yet every time she dared to believe it was simply a cruel trick of the mind, it happened again. Resting a hand upon her stomach-bare as she'd taken to hitching her shirt up in disbelief-she stroked the flesh timidly, quietly willing for a confirmation. To know that she wasn't going utterly mad from grief-   
  
A tiny kick. A flutter against her palm. She cried out, a mixture of alarm and anguish before her hands flew to her face and she groaned softly.    
  
No question. She was with child.   
  
**Zevran's**  child.   
  
_ This is insane...!  _ she thought helplessly, rolling an arm over her eyes to shut out the dying light of evening.  _ I'm still a child myself! How can I ever hope to care for one of my own-?! _   
  
A creak at the door startled her just enough to sit up against the mound of pillows behind her.    
It was Leliana, baring a small jug of water and some rather withered-looking grapes from the communal ration pack perched upon a tray. She smiled gently, setting it down on the nightstand before seating herself on the edge of the bed.   
  
"You need to eat." the bard said gently, picking the sprig of grapes from the tray and plucking one of the wrinkly green fruits from the vine as she leaned to dangle it before the rogue's lips.    
As little appetite Butters had, she forced herself to humour the bard, if only to avoid getting pinned back and force-fed.   
  
Rolling the fruit around her mouth, Butters ate in silence, her knees pulled to her chest as she actively took to avoiding Leliana's gaze. After a while, when half the vine was picked clean, the bard finally broke the uncomfortable stillness by placing a hand upon the rogue's bare stomach.   
  
"Still uncertain?" she whispered gently, her icy blue eyes glinting with warmth and kindness.    
Butters grimaced, hoping the  _ thing _  inside of her wouldn't betray her. Clearing her throat roughly, the rogue shrugged as casually as she could muster, reaching to rub the back of her head.   
  
"Pretty much. Isn't there a way to know for definite? Li-like a test or a spell or something?"   
  
The bard nodded eagerly, reaching into a hidden pocket of the light metal armour she wore to produce a small, smooth stone of a rich orange colour. Blinking in confusion, Butters studied it for a moment before recognizing it as a Lifestone.    
  
"I stole this from Morrigan's pack. This will set your mind at ease,  _ mon ami _ !" the bard said lightly, her blue eyes glinting with anticipation.   
"They turn a most delectable shade of blue when they come into contact with fertile blood. Surely your mother told you all this?"   
  
"I...N-no." Butters felt her cheeks turn pink. "To be perfectly honest, I'm still figuring it out on my own." She grimaced then, a troubled smile pulling the corners of her mouth.    
As good a relationship she had with her mother, sex was the one subject neither of them wanted to brooch. It was something of a taboo, a dirty word and whilst Eleanor had tried to teach her daughter some distinction between love and lust, her teachings were awkward, fumbling and rushed as the embarrassment stifled them both.   
  
Yet as she sat staring at that small, smooth stone, Butters felt a tinge of sadness as she acknowledged the fact she'd never again see her mother looking so flustered.    
"So... fertile blood, you say?" the raven haired woman blanched, backing away slightly; "What, do I have to shank myself in the arm or something?"   
  
"No, no. Just a little scratch will suffice." Leliana extended a hand, taking one of the rogue's own. Before she had a chance to react, Butters heard the low swish of metal singing through the air and a short, sharp shock of pain in the tip of her index finger.   
  
" _Akk!_ " she hissed in alarm, recoiling from the bard's gilded dagger. "At least give me fair warning before you do something like that!" she yelled, glaring at the red-head.   
  
Chuckling, Leliana moved Butters' finger to rest atop the stone, letting the blood pool over it until there was fairly even coverage, drops of claret flecking the pale-coloured bedclothes. Setting the stone down on the nightstand, the bard daubed a small amount of healing salve on the wound and nodded, urging her to watch the Lifestone change colour.   
  
It was subtle at first, the blue little more than a slight tint at the top of the stone before it swirled like dye in water and enveloped the smooth orange sheen, turning from bright tangerine to a beautiful, intense shade of cornflower blue. Butters held her breath, her heart in her throat.   
  
"Eeee! Congratulations!" Leliana squealed, throwing her arms around the rogue in celebration as the Lifestone confirmed what the young woman had long dreaded.    
  
"Nooo! No congratulations, Leliana! This is bad. This is very, very, _very_ bad!"   
  
"How so?" the bard said quizzically, frowning. "From death, a new life emerges. There is so little left to celebrate in light of all we have lost in the Blight. Surely you can take a small bit of happiness in bringing a child into the world?"   
  
"Maker, Lee...I'm not even sure if I'm going to  **keep**  the damn thing!"   
  
Leliana recoiled as though she'd just been slapped across the face. Eyes wide with horror, she fell back on her haunches and stared in disbelief at the young rogue's harsh words.   
"You can't be serious-!"   
  
"What other choice to I have, Leliana? You've seen how Zevran acts around anything in a skirt! Do you  **really**  think he'd make a good father to an unexpected child? For that matter, I can barely take care of my own dog, much less a damn _baby_!" Burying her head in her hands, Butters gave a long drawn out groan, pangs of nausea pulling at her stomach.   
  
Frowning darkly, Leliana drew herself up to her full height, hands resting on her hips as she set a cold gaze upon the rogue. "Do not punish the child for the sins of the parent."   
  
"Don't give me that Chantry propaganda, Leliana-!"   
  
"The Maker will not forgive an act of murder against a fledgling life. I will not stand idly by and see you damn yourself to an eternity of hell-fire!" the bard spoke passionately, her eyes blazing with a fanaticism that bellied her usual calm and sunny demeanour.   
  
Gulping back the lump in her throat, Butters knew there was no point in arguing with the ex-Chantry sister. Whilst she hadn't know her very long, it was clear to the young rogue that the red-headed Orlesin bardess took a strong moral view on the risqué subject of family planning.   
Glancing down at her stomach, she grimaced and turned away, looking out towards the ocean where the sun was steadily setting on the horizon.   


"If you have a better idea, I'd like to hear it.." she mumbled dejectedly, fingers twitching in her lap.   
  
"Well.. you've still got a few weeks before you begin to show, right? Perhaps you could convince Alistair it might be-"   
  
"No way! One minute you're dispelling any talks of ending the situation before it has a chance to worsen, the next you are actively encouraging me to lie to a sweet, innocent young man who had nothing to do with it! I really don't get you sometimes, Lee."   
  
"It will come as a huge shock to him, of that I've no doubt. But it would be for the best. You said it yourself- Alistair is kind, caring and above all else, loyal. I'm certain he will stand by you on this."   
  
Butters exhaled sharply, feeling the nausea bubble once more. "What you're asking me to do... if he ever found out, it would destroy him."   
  
"He won't find out, Butters." Leliana gave her forearm a reassuring squeeze; "I promise you this-"   
  
"And what if the child comes out with pointy ears? How am I going to explain that?"   
  
"Silly!" the bard giggled despite the seriousness of the conversation; "Don't you know that half-caste children are predominantly human? Besides, he and Zevran have quite similar colouring- blonde hair, dark eyes-it would be easy enough to explain away the resemblance."   
  
"I...I can't do it. The guilt would eat me alive!"   
  
"You are  **not**  getting rid of it!" the bard snapped. Her voice was curt enough to startle Butters into silence.   
  
Reaching for the blood-smeared Lifestone, she thumbed it around her hands for a moment, brow crinkling as the reality set in. Running her fingers over the smooth curves of the tainted stone, she bite her lip and glanced towards the ceiling as fresh tears threatened to stab her eyes once more.   
  
"I can't...Leliana, please. I'm barely more than a child myself! What hope do I have?"   
  
"You have me, Butters." Leliana's smile returned, softer this time as she placed her hands atop the rogues in a comforting gesture. "I will keep your secret for as long as I can but it is up to you how you handle the situation. Just don't be so swift to talk of purging the child from your body. This could be the making of you."   
  
"Making?" Butters snorted; "Yeah, the making of the end of my life as I know it-"   
  
"Do you really think your parents would take kindly to you entertaining thoughts of killing their grandchild?"   
  
A startled gasp escaped the raven haired woman's throat as she sat bolt upright, eyes wide with shock. "That-that's a _low blow_. I would've expected such a cheap shot from Morrigan perhaps but not from you-ahh!" As she gritted out the words, her rage descended into shock as another strong, fluttering movement derailed her diatribe. Hands flying to her stomach, she sighed deeply and cursed inwardly to herself.   
  
The little blighter was certainly doing wonders for her guilty conscience.   
  
"Butters!" Leliana's voice rose with concern, her face paling. "Are you okay-?!"   
  
"Powerful tiny fists..." Butters growled, flopping back against her pillows in dejection, one hand resting against her forehead as it began to throb with the onset of a migraine.   
  
"You-you can feel the quickening?"   
  
"Is that what its' called?"   
  
"May I?" Before Butters could even protest, Leliana's hands were upon her once more, resting flat against the slight curve of her stomach. With each tiny flutter, she would coo and sigh, happy squeals and giggles reverberating around the room as she savoured each movement.    
As annoying as Butters found her exuberance, she had to admit, it did feel oddly infectious.    
As much uncertainty she felt towards the growing life-form within, seeing Leliana so caring and cheerful was just enough to bolster her spirits.   
  
Closing her eyes for a moment, she rested against her pillow and cast her mind back to the only basis for comparison she had: the day Oriana had announced her pregnancy. There was such an air of excitement about the castle, laughter and merriment ringing through the halls as the family counted down to the birth.   
  
Once, Butters had expressed the same joy as Leliana, eagerly thumbing her sister-in-law's growing belly and squealing in delight as she felt the kicks grow stronger as the weeks flew by. She recalled being present for the birth and whilst at the time, she had been left traumatized by the terrifying screams that ripped through the infirmary, holding Oren as a tiny, wrinkly newborn blasted away any doubt in her mind about someday having a child of her own.   
  
Butters had adored her nephew, practically worshipping the ground he walked on. Spoiling him rotten like a good, dutiful aunt, she still had so much left to teach him: How to skim rocks over the lake, how to climb a tree or sharpen a blade, how to woo the fair maidens when he came of age.   
  
A life cut so tragically short, she had been bereft in the weeks that followed, her lessons dying with him.   
  
Yet now, the Maker chose to bestow a second chance upon her.   
  
A new life, pure and unsullied, waiting to be nurtured and taught all the wisdom that she'd amassed in her twenty two short years. The more Butters thought about it, the more she began to slowly come around to the idea.   
  
She visualised herself strolling through the fields of Highever, a blonde haired, green eyed child skipping along beside her. Further along the path, a man stood ever watchful, proud and tall yet for all his revered glances, Butters couldn't see his face. It was obscured by a rogue sunbeam, a branch, the shadows of a wide brimmed hat-anything to conceal his identity.   
  
Butters found herself calling out to him, hands reaching to touch his strange, unfamiliar face.   
  
_ Wait...please..! Tell me who you are! _   
  
It was nightfall when Butters woke up.    
  
Blinking, her eyes squinted in the darkness, startled by the lack of light flooding the window. A low yawn escaped her, a hand flying to her mouth. Just then, a noise by her side caused her to jump. Gasping, she instinctively reached for the small knife she kept hidden behind her pillow at all times but before she could draw it, a strong, burly hand grabbed her wrist with a firm but gentle grip.   
  
"Hey. It's only me."Alistair's voice echoed in the darkness and she relaxed to a certain extent, loosening her grip on the blade.   
  
"Alistair? H-How long was I out?" she mumbled sleepily, nestling into his chest. She felt his arms wind around her and noted he seemed to be fully clad in his trademark splint mail.   
  
"Not long. About an hour, give or take. I came to check in on you but...well, it seemed a shame to rouse you."   
  
"Funny. You had no problem poking me awake over the last number of days-!"   
  
"Heh!" He sounded bashful and where it not for the darkness, Butters was certain he was blushing; "Well, I figured since you didn't get much of it on-board the ship I'd let you sleep for a little while. You looked so cosy, all curled up in here I thought I'd snuggle up to you, keep you company." his hand found her neck and stroked it lovingly, making her sigh.   
  
"Awww. Thank you, sweetie." Butters purred, searching for his lips to give him a gentle peck. The kiss landed on the tip of his nose. "Granted, I prefer you  **out**  of your armour but I'm not complaining..."   
  
"How are you?" his large hands cupped her jaw and she sighed again, instinctively angling her jaw. His kiss hit its' target most admirably. "You were mumbling in your sleep to an obscene amount. Something about your father. You kept saying "Daddy"..."   
  
"I did?"   
  
"Mmhmm. Understandable, given the circumstances."   
  
"Sorry.."   
  
"No-no, don't apologize. It's only natural." He kissed her again, deeper this time and she had to fight the urge not to pry his mouth open with her tongue. Instead, she let out a soft giggle, still somewhat hazy with sleep.   
  
"Y'know, this is actually the first time I've had a boy in my room."   
  
"Is it, now?" she felt his hands rest against the curve of her backside, giving a playful squeeze. "As tempted as I am to help you christen this lovely bed of yours, I actually came to fetch you for a reason." A few shuffling movements and Alistair sat upright, pulling her with him.   
  
"Rory spotted some movement out in the field a few minutes ago. He and Malcolm are doing a sweep of the perimeter. How are you with a bow and arrow? They'll need some cover fire if things get hairy."   
  
"Not great. Like I said before, I'm not much of a fighter though if needs be, I'm a pretty good shot with chucking Acid Flasks at fools." Butters moved to swing her legs off the bed but found herself accidentally kicking the back of his shins, causing the non-templar to yelp in alarm.   
  
"Be ready. None of us know what we're dealing with." he managed to gasp, moving to pull her to his feet as he stumbled in the darkness.   
  
_ You can say that again... _  Butters thought, wincing as he wrenched the door open, flooding the room with the blinding light of the lanterns in the hall beyond. 

Taking her by the hand, he lead her back into the study, where Morrigan and Leliana stood watchful by the stone arch of the window, gazes firmly fixed on the two armoured men snaking through the grass below.    
In the corner, idly thumbing through a dusty, dog-eared copy of  _ Ferelden Blue _  with the occasional quirk of an eyebrow, Zevran tried to appear nonchalant. He glanced up briefly as she entered the room, his amber gaze lingering for just a moment before he coughed awkwardly and turned away, setting the magazine down on the pile.   
  
Unless Butters was very much mistaken, she could've sworn his ears were pink.   
  
"Any change?" Alistair's queried, crossing the room to gaze down at the two men patrolling the area by torchlight.   
  
"Nothing yet, though I believe this is simply the calm before the storm-oh, Butters! You're awake!" Leliana said pleasantly, turning to face the young woman as she loaded her bow with an Ice Arrow. Trying to smile, Butters waved half-heartedly and sat down on the high backed leather chair behind the desk, draping her legs over the arms.   
  
"What's the plan, guys?" she said with an air of distraction, taking to fidgeting with the same paperweight Malcolm had been so enamoured with just hours before. Morrigan cleared her throat and folded her arms, leaning back against the sill as she considered the rogue with a slight sneer.   
  
"We have this one covered. Do not worry your empty little head." she sniffed, arching a dark eyebrow. Smirking in spite of herself, Butters contemplated on chucking the paperweight at her head but thought better of it.   
  
"S'matter, Morrigan?" she teased, corners of her mouth dimpling; "Afraid I might show you up in the pyrotechnic department?"   
  
"Please. As if you could hold any threa-"   
  
" _Hold it! We've got something_!" Malcolm's yell startled them all. Out in the open field, he raised his hand above his head in a well practiced combat signal, sword clenched tight in his fist. Taking a cautious step forward, the elder warden jabbed the business end of his weapon through the tall grass in one quick, curt movement.   
  
There was rustle and a high-pitched cry before he drew back, rivulets of blood trickling down the tang. A large ginger tabby sprang from the undergrowth, unholy terror on its face and blood spilling from a shallow cut to its' scruff. Shoulders relaxing to a certain extent, Malcolm sighed and kicked at it with the toe of his boot, growling in irritation.   
  
"False alarm. It was just a bleedin' cat-"   
  
  
The first arrow came hurtling from the brush so fast Malcolm yelled in alarm.    
  
As it pinged off his armour, he signalled to the crowd gathered at the tower window and at once, the sky was alight with arcane fire, a gigantic ball of flames hurling towards the centre of the field, exploding before it hit the ground to utterly vaporize the grass and expose the dozens of bandits crouching within with a burst of hot, choking air.   
  
Utter pandemonium ensued as the bandits descended like a pack of vultures, metal singing against metal as the tally was two against three dozen. Reaching into the many drawers of her father's desk, Butters managed to find a small cache of Acid Bombs and wasting no time, she set her sights on a large group of hunkering thieves, flinging the bomb with a curling flick of her wrist.   
  
"Flank them! They're outnumbered!" she yelled at Alistair, who nodded and threw out the rope ladder, scrambling down the tower before running full tilt with his Rune-master held high and a fierce War Cry tearing from his throat.   
  
The bandits gasped, some freezing in place as the warrior's skill worked effectively in slowing them just enough for Alistair to get in a few quick swipes. Ripples of lightning crackled overhead and with an audible zap, several of the heavily-armoured men were set flying as Morrigan pelted them with electricity.   
  
Leliana headed up the offence, firing wave after wave of Ice Bolts and felling no less than five men in an inordinate amount of time. "Malcolm, twelve O'clock!" Butters yelled as she flung another bomb into the fray. Turning just in time to duck the swoop of an axe, the elder of the two siblings yelled with fury and bashed the brute with his shield, a red glow surrounding him as he called upon his newly acquired Berserker skills.   
  
Still somewhat of a novice in the arts having gleamed knowledge from a codex in Denerim, Malcolm felt confident it was enough to shake off the enemies and successfully defend the battle but as the red mist clouded his senses, he felt the blood surge through his veins, pulsing in time to his heart in a rhythm so loud it threatened to block out all other noise.   
  
His sword swiped wildly through the air, cleaving through hostile throats as smoothly as butter, the smell of blood, sweat and viscera heavy on the night air.   
  
From his vantage point at the window, Zevran's brow furrowed darkly. " _ Idiota! _  " he growled, watching as Malcolm moved unsteadily on his feet, vision impaired by the pure, seething rage that drove his actions. "What is his thinking behind such tactics? He has barely had time to familiarize himself with the art of Berserker, much less perfect it! He'll get himself killed-!"   
  
"Then why the hell are you standing here?!" Butters' voice was gruffer than normal, her olive eyes narrowed as she met his gaze. "Get stuck in and show him how it's done!"   
  
The elf chuckled haughtily, a wolfish smirk curling the corners of his lips. "What's the point of dying if you cannot go out in style, hmm?"    
  
"Hey!" Butters frowned, clamping him on the back as she pursed her lips disapprovingly; "There'll be no dying on my watch!   
  
The assassin gave a low, throaty laugh before shrugging her shoulder away. Taking a few steps backwards, he jumped onto the window sill and gave a scout's salute before leaping backwards from the archway. Gasping in alarm, Butters leaned over the side, only to chuckle with relief as she saw him dangle from an errant wooden beam jutting from between the stone brickwork.   
  
"Gods, I  _ hate _  it when you do that!" she said, unable to hide the amusement among the shock in her voice. Zevran laughed heartily and swung backwards slightly, readying himself for the leap into the fray.   
  
With a push, he swung forward, swinging his body up hard before releasing his fingers and somersaulting in mid-air. Twisting expertly, he caught another beam on the way down before dropping to his feet as smooth and elegantly as a cat.   
  
Butters felt her heart hammer in her chest-half out of fear and and half out of excitement. For a brief moment, she indulged that giddy haze, marvelling at his speed and finesse as the elf sprinted towards a baying crowd of bandits with his daggers drawn, pirouetting between two of them before swiftly ventilating their rib-cages with a series of graceful strokes.   
  
When he engaged in battle, Zevran moved like poetry in motion.   
  
He seemed to dance across the battleground, his steps quick and light, displaying acrobatic prowess as he flipped and vaulted from danger, the sing of his twin daggers penetrating the air over the din. Momentarily distracted, Butters couldn't help but emit a dreamy sigh.   
  
Something about the graceful way he shanked his enemies- there was raw, primal energy in his movements that was enough to send a hot blush upon her cheeks.   
  
"Ahem." Leliana cleared her throat awkwardly, snapping the young rogue from a train of thought that threatened to turn most inappropriate for a time of battle. "I think they're falling back..." the bard said cheerily, a conspiratorial smile edging the corners of her mouth as she nodded towards the fray.   
  
"I..." Butters made a show of brushing imaginary lint from her clothing, face turning scarlet with the indignity of being caught out leering; "Yes, I do believe so-"   
  
"Oh, for the love of-!" Morrigan growled low, ball lightning crackling in her hands as her feline eyes focused on a dark mass in the centre of the field, stalking up behind Malcolm. "They've got a blood mage among them!"   
  
" _ What _ ?!" Leliana and Butters cried out in unison, eyes wide with alarm.   
  
"Don't just stand there gawking! Keep firing!" the witch yelled, shooting the bolts over the field as she concentrated her powers on that lumbering black mass in the distance. The lightning blasted away the shadows, licking at the mage's robes as he let out a cry of agony.   
  
Sinking his staff into the ground to steady himself, the hooded blood mage emitted a shrill shriek as he grabbed one of his allies and cast a Walking Bomb spell before throwing the kamikaze bandit towards the turret. Slapping against the stone, the man exploded in a shower of blood and guts, the force strong enough to blast a hole through the archway and rumble the floor, causing the three women to scream and stumble.   
  
Losing her footing, Butters slipped over the edge with a strangled cry, her fingers shredding against the debris as she struggled to find purchase against the rock. Curling her toes in the thin leather of her boots, she managed to brace herself against the wall before swinging a hand down to the wooden beam left exposed by the blast.   
  
_"Butters!_ " Leliana cried out, crouching low and extending a hand; _"Are you alright?!"_   
  
"Cover me! For the love of Andraste, cover me!" the rogue shrilled, dropping to the next beam down. Still a good twenty feet off the ground, she sucked in a breath before letting go. Something popped as her feet met with the concrete path and it was a few seconds before the pain registered.   
  
Gasping, the rogue willed herself to ignore it, channelling the agony into staunch determination as she yanked two Fire-bombs from her belt, whipping them hard into a line of bandits that got a little too close for comfort. As liquid heat exploded around her, she could feel the sickening smell of singed flesh violate her nostrils and it was all she could do not to gag.   
  
Bracing herself flush against the castle wall, she pulled her daggers from the holsters on her hip and took to swiping and stabbing at anyone and anything within arm's length.   
  
"Butters!" Alistair called out nearby, cutting a path through the hostile crowd as he battle to reach her; "Shield your eyes!"   
  
"What-?!"   
  
Before she could tell what was happening, the ex-templar let out a piercing scream. A powerful burst of blinding white light rocketed from his body, blasting back the last remaining bandits hard enough to knock most of them unconscious. The blood mage in their ranks stumbled, coughing as a gurgle of blood spat from his mouth.   
  
Knocked off her feet by the force of the blast, Butters let out a pained cry as her ankle burned with pain. Wincing as the light died down just enough to be bearable, she shielded her eyes once hand, watching as Rory and Alistair rounded on the mage with Malcolm bringing up the rear. Zevran circled, ever viligent for cheap shots and cunning on the mage's part and for a moment, it looked like the battle was well and truly over.   
  
Yet, as the men took to stabbing the blood mage clean through with their collective blades, something felt off to the young rogue. As the warlock fell, she felt it somewhat safe to join them, limping as far as her broken ankle would allow to stand before the warriors, her eyes heavy with fright.   
  
"An apostate?" she gasped, staring down at the dying man before her, blood pooling at her feet. Malcolm grunted a response, twisting his blade in the mage's chest. A low, rasping gurgle followed a low, wet thud as he slid of the warden's blade, dead on the ground.   
  
"Correction. A  **dead**  apostate."    
  
"Anyone hurt?" Zevran queried, dusting himself down before re-sheathing his daggers on his back. Glancing at Butters, he noted the awkward angle of her ankle and made a move to step towards her, concern in his eyes before he stopped, back stiffening and eyes widening as through he'd just stepped on a thumb tack.   
  
"I've suffered worse, Zev." the raven haired rogue smiled through the pain, reaching to place a hand lightly on his shoulder. As she did so, she felt him shudder violently, his knees buckling beneath him. Grabbing hold of the elf as he slumped to the ground, Rory steadied him, face drained of colour.   
  
"He's been tagged!" the knight gasped, glancing between Malcolm and Alistair. "Zevran, where're you hit?" he said shakily, trying to keep his voice steady as he rested the elf against his knee.   
  
Blinking in confusion, Zevran felt his vision blur at the edges. Running his hands over his torso, he moved to search for the source of the strange, trickling heat on his skin. That's when he felt it. The delectable feel of blood pooling in his hands. The pain hit him then, choking the breath from his lungs as he could scarcely cry out.   
  
So thick it was black, the blood trickled steadily from an unseen tear in his armour just above his navel-the wound was so clean, so precise that to the untrained eye, not a single chink of armour appeared out of place.   
  
"Well..." Zevran coughed, tasting blood in the back of his mouth; "I was rather hoping...I wouldn't get blood all over me again..."his voice was weak, hoarse with the pain that ripped through his abdomen as he clutched at the wound, fearful his innards might fall out. Maker knows it certainly felt like it.   
  
Gritting his teeth, he winced as he felt Rory's strong hands lift him to his feet. Butters was panting hard, her face devoid of colour as her mouth set in a line of abject shock. "Z-Zevran!" she cried, ignoring the pain in her foot as she rushed to him, her hand curling over his for a brief moment. As she touched him, he finally managed an anguished cry, the scream loud enough to startle birds from the surrounding trees.   
  
Hastily hoisted back up the the tower, the party wasted no time in bundling the elf into Butter's room, laying him out on the bed as the women in the group scurried to find health poultices. Not wishing to leave him in a desperate hour of need, Butter seated herself on the edge of of the bed, nestling his head in her lap.   
  
By the door, Alistair watched with a stony expression, the jealousy of the past few days giving over to genuine concern. He watched in silence as Butters made short work of ridding the elf of his armour, sucking in a breath as the wound revealed itself.   
  
A long, deep gash bisecting the lower half of his abdomen gapped before them, spewing blood as a severed artery bled indiscriminately. Within seconds, the pale bedsheets were stained an ugly maroon. Zevran growled through his teeth, squirming in pain as his fingers clenched in the fabric, eyes scrunched tight as Leliana swooped in to apply a healing salve. As her fingers touched the cleft in his flesh, the elf cried out in anguish, tears stinging at his eyes as the pain ripped through him.   
  
Butters winced, her hands flying to his forehead in a bid to offer some semblance of comfort. Stroking his hair soothingly, she whispered soft words in Antivan as the bard set to treating his injuries. Yet despite her best efforts, Leliana could not stop the bleeding.    
  
Feeling faint and dizzy as his energy dissipated, Zevran's head slumped against the pillow, his vision blurring. He blinked once, gasping as spots of colours danced before him. Bile rose in his throat and he fought back the urge to vomit.   
  
The world swiftly fell away, the frantic cries of his fellow companions giving over to silence as darkness claimed him with alarming swiftness...

 


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

“ _ Maker's light! Why would you wish to throw your life away so flippantly?!” _

“ _ Shut up! It's none of your damn business, elf! Leave me to my pain!” _

“ _ Such a senseless waste of such a beautiful young woman! What on Earth could have drove you to even contemplate such a deep mortal sin?” _

“ _ Beautiful? Pfft, you Antivans really are utterly shameless! Be gone! Your presence infuriates me-!” _

“ _ No, señorita. I am going nowhere. Not until I have your word you will not try anything so utterly stupid as to attempt to end your life!” _

“ _ Fuck off! Mind your own damn business!” _

“ _ I must apologize, dear lady but I will not leave. I am too far involved now and my concern is piqued. You are in a great deal of pain, of that I have no doubt. Perhaps I might comfort you with a sympathetic ear, hmm? You look as though a glass of wine wouldn't go amiss.” _

“ _ You are most unscrupulous! Picking up women on the brink of death, preying on the vulnerable! Why can't you simply stab me through the heart and be done with it? Alcohol does  _ **_nothing_ ** _ any more! Nothing! You think I haven't tried to drown in the bottom of a gilded bottle? Be gone, elf. I have no time to indulge your shameless intentions.” _

_ His hands moved to grip her shoulders firmly, his eyes narrowing as they gazed upon her with fierce intensity. “The Maker saw fit to cross our paths for a reason. It was divine intervention that I happened upon this pier, pulling you from the blackened depths. Do not be so quick to dismiss me-” _

“ _ Oh, what? Your timely rescue was preordained, written in the stars by Androste herself? Pull the other one, why don't ya?!” _

“ _ Señorita, you try my patience.” he scowled at her; “I am simply trying to help, to get my head around the notion of what could've driven such a fine young lady as yourself to contemplate such a foolish act of cowardice. As dark as things may seem, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel-even if, in most cases, it is that of an oncoming dragon!” _

_ She slumped her shoulders, averting his gaze as a tiny sob escaped her. “You can't  _ **_possibly_ ** _ understand what I'm going through...” _

“ _ God willing, I will try. I will listen. I will comfort you. You need a friend in this dark hour and I humbly offer you my services. Come. You will catch a chill if you linger in that wet frock of yours.” _

“ _ You're just trying to get me in bed, aren't you?” _

 

“ _ In bed? Am I really so transparent?” _

“ _ Hmm.. not as much as my dress appears to be. Very well, elf. If it will ease your conscience, I will indulge your concerns so long as you're paying. I want to walk into a bar and drink it, forget my may troubles.” _

“ _ My dear, I think you are drunk enough already. A strong cup of coffee would better suit you, no?” _

“ _ Hrrm. Fair enough. As long as there's cake involved...” _

_ He laughed throatily, petting her hand gently. “For you, señorita... _ **_anything_ ** _  is possible.” _

* * *

Biting his lip as raw heat stabbed at his abdomen, Zevran sat up gingerly against the mound of pillows at his back. The room was dim, lit by a single candle in an iron holder on the night-stand, all but completely burned down with spidery threads of wax dripping down the sides.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the elf groaned and brushed the fatigue from his eyes before glancing down at himself. He was naked but for a thin cotton sheet, layer after layer of thick, heavy bandages wound around his torso, bound tight to his aching muscles and speckled lightly with congealed drops of blood. Trying to move proved fair too painful so for the time being, Zevran rested upon the bed, a groan escaping him.

At the foot of the bed, a sudden movement made him turn, amber eyes squinting as they adjusted to the low light. Slowly standing up from where she'd spent most of the night keeping watch in an antique armchair, Butters stretched, grimacing as her splinted ankle protested against her.

As she moved to rest upon the mattress, Zevran relaxed and hitched the sheets a little higher to his waist, a small smile tugging his lips. “I was rather hoping I'd wake up dead..” he chuckled, mimicking his words when they were last reunited. He watched her purse her lips, pulling her knees to her chest as she studied him with a weighted look.

“Trust me, it looked that way for a good bit.” she said tersely, running her fingers through her hair as she rasped out a sigh of relief. “Andraste's sweet bippy, are you  **trying**  to give me a heart-attack?!”

“Not on purpose, I assure you.” He shifted briefly, hissing through his teeth; “Though if your heart does ache for me, perhaps I could interest you in a massage, hmm? Get me some soothing aloe and I shall be more than happy to knead the tension from your lovely chest-!”

“Please don't joke!” the words came out as a sputter, her fingers tensing in the bedsheets. “You almost  **died**  tonight, Zevran! Forgive me if I'm in no mood to indulge your sly innuendos.”

Reaching towards him, she scooted along the bed until they were sitting face-to-face. Resting her hand against the smooth line of his chest, her expression was pained, drained of colour but for the white mask of terror.

“I-I was so afraid I might lose you-”

Smile dropping, the elf rested his hand over hers, curling his fingers tightly to give her a comforting squeeze. “I am...touched by your concern,  _ Margerina  _ but I do not need you to worry. I can handle myself fine enough.”

“Oh, sure!” the rogue let out a snort of derision; “You handled yourself pretty damn well enough to escape with little more than a perforated spleen for your troubles! I swear, you are so bloody stubborn sometimes! Would you really be so glib if they'd stabbed you clean through? How about killed you outright? Would your spirit come back form the Fade to don a top hat and cane, dancing a merry jig over your own eviscerated corpse?!”

“Such a vivid picture you paint.” Zevran pursed his lips and clasped her hand in both of his; “For the record, I would never dance a  **jig** . The samba, perhaps. Or maybe a sexually provocative tango designed to ignite the fires of your latent necrophiliac tendencies.” he chuckled humorlessly; “Even so, it'll be a cold day in hell before you'll catch me in a top hat!”

Butters grunted with agitation, snapping her hand away as she moved to brace both on the headboard behind him, edging towards him until they were nose-to-nose.

“I almost lost you tonight...” her voice was edged with a curious mixture of agitation, shock and something else Zevran couldn't quite place-fear, maybe? Uncertainty? Sorrow? He swallowed back a lump in his throat, suddenly uncomfortable at the close proximity.

“Maker almighty, Zev! Why do you keep doing this to me? Playing my heartstrings like a violin for your own twisted kicks? Do you  **enjoy**  causing me pain?”

“I...” He sighed, bowing his head and for a brief moment, their brows touched. “I'm sorry. Truly. I was simply trying to lighten the mood..”

“Really? I'd have never guessed...!”

“ _ Margerina _ ...” he turned his face just enough to rest his cheek against her forehead, eyes closing for just an instance. His hands curled around her waist, pulling her just enough to close the distance between them. Moving one to gently stroke her hair, he took a moment to breath in the scent of citrus lingering upon the raven locks before he pulled back, hands cupping her jaw intently.

Butters stiffened at this.

He had always held her with warm, lingering touches. His fingers felt cosy, familiar and inviting upon her face and it was all she could do to hold off from brushing her lips against him. She  **wanted** to kiss him, to feel the heat of him envelope her and burn away the pain that lingered deep within her chest. He was so good at soothing the savage beast within that she felt compelled to seek his embrace once more, briefly forgetting about the oblivious blonde templar pacing around the study not three doors down the hall.

Zevran's hands were smoother, softer than Alistair's, his touches more self-assured and heavy with the confidence honed from years of experience. Yet as he stroked her with his thumbs, caressing the sloping line of her jaw, Butters felt a tremor in him. It was small, barely enough to make his hands shake but it was there-a tiny glimpse of nerves beneath a calm and cool exterior.

“I need to hear you say it...” he murmured, hands moving from her jaw to wind around her neck as he buried his face in her collar-bone. Startled, Butters dropped her arms to the side, unsure of how to respond.

“Hmm? Say what, Zev?”

He held her tighter to him, tensing as his injuries stung with each movement and his fingers dropped to stroke the small of her back. His next few words were little more than hushed whispered but they were so impassioned he might as well have shouted them from the mountains.

“You told me once, the night before you left to return to Ferelden...” he exhaled sharply, clenching his eyes shut; “...That you were falling in love with me. Did you... did you mean that?”

A jolt surged through her as though she'd just been struck by a wayward Arcane Bolt. Pushing back as gently as she could, Butters stared at him with wide, shell-shocked eyes. “I..” she fisted a handful of hair, biting her bottom lip as the hazy memory of the day came flooding back.

Two months- a fling by everyone else's standards, yet the more time she spent in his pleasant and often pleasurable company, the more she found herself drawn in by his charm. When he spoke of his own loss in a bid to offer sympathy, she saw in him a kindred spirit and felt drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Yet through it all, her loss was all-consuming. It burned within her, threatening to engulf her like the black waters of the Antivan harbour until she could hardly dare to breathe.

 

The day she left him, she thought she had said her final goodbye.

Knowing that in a few short days she would be dead by the hands of Rendon Howe as she threw herself upon his sword, she had uttered those short, sweet words as they stood upon the pier, the very same one they had met each other in most dramatic circumstances.

There was truth in her admission, even if she didn't quite understand her feelings at the time. So many emotions ran through her then and she was still so raw from the pain of losing all she held dear. As the sound of horns rang out through the harbour, signalling impending departure, she had kissed him with every ounce of passion and vigour left in her frail form, her fingers ensnared in his hair as she engrained the taste of him on her memory.

That kiss should have been the last image to flash through her mind, the last thing she'd see before the Maker claimed her.

Back in Antiva, she was comfortably numb to the pain of their parting, the alcohol in her system -she winced a little, fearful of what damage she might have caused the unborn- dulling her senses just enough to give her the strength needed to pull away and carry out her mission.

She barely stopped to think about what she might be losing by following through on her reckless mission of vengeance yet as she sat in her childhood room, within four walls that had been a sanctuary throughout her young life, Butters was soon facing the horrifying prospect of losing a loved one all over again.

Zevran's injuries had been severe. There was so much blood Butters dreaded to think of it. It was highly fortunate they had a mage in their midst-even if said mage was a disgruntled, surly bitch on a good day. Morrigan's spell had worked slowly-she was unused to practising healing magic-and it had taken the better part of the night before the elf came out of the danger zone.

Leliana had applied a health salve, stitching up the laceration and dressing it neatly whilst the raven haired rogue lingered, watching the furore and holding her breath out of sheer nerves. Seeing him thrash in pain before growing quiet, weak with blood loss, it shook her to the core.

In the cold light of dawn and without the haze of alcohol to cloud her judgement, Butters could fully contemplate his question with a sound mind. He watched her expectantly, amber eyes focused on hers before at last, she found the will to speak.

 

“Every single word.” she choked out, feeling tears she hadn't realized she'd cried spill down her cheeks.

At her admission, Zevran gave a breathless sigh and tilted her chin just enough. “ _ Ay, mi corazon... _ ”

Then, he was kissing her.

Unlike the soft, comforting ministrations he had engaged in perched on the edge of Oren's bed, his lips moved with a feverish frenzy, filled with the same unbridled passion he had held that fateful day in Antiva. Butters gasped against him, opening her mouth just enough to grant him entrance as the tip of his tongue darted out to stroke over her bottom lip. One hand dipped to her waist, gripping firmly as the other caressed the back of her skull, holding her with an almost reverent touch.

She cried into his mouth, her own hands sliding up his chest to snake around his neck. Forgetting herself, she returned his actions with enthusiasm, feeling tension build below her navel as his fingers brushed from her neck to her shoulder.

“Zevran..” she managed to gasp between kisses, her breath ragged and flustered; “Z-Zev, I love you..”

“ _ Margerina... mi Margerina... _ ” he whispered against her, kissing the corner of her lips before pulling her into a warm embrace, flush against his chest. Resting his chin atop her head, he closed his eyes and savoured her warmth, idly stroking down the length of her spine as he shifted slowly, just enough to stretch out fully on the bed, cuddling her close.

He wasn't normally the sort to indulge in such intimate displays of affection but of course, there were always happy exceptions to the rule. Nuzzling against her hair, he was just about to surrender to the temptation of sleep when a thought struck him.

They were spooning. 

On a bed. 

He was virtually naked. 

She was already taken with a burly, six foot tall, two-hundred odd pound towering mass of ex-Templar muscle. It was plain to see this wasn't exactly an ideal situation to be found in.

Coughing roughly, he tried to roll away but the movement served only to reignite the liquid fire that had otherwise cooled in his abdomen and he gave a pained cry, hands flying to clutch the injury.

“Careful!” Butters helped him onto his back, adjusting the pillows at his head until he was lying flat out. Tugging the sheets up to his collar, she chuckled awkwardly and propped herself up on one arm, a troubled expression on her features. “Don't want you popping your stitches! And after Leliana took great lengths to sew in her initials!”

“My dear, it is safe to say that reopening my wounds will be the least of my worries if we continue our entanglement. Not that I don't enjoy the feel of your lips on my own, I very much doubt Alistair would appreciate me leading his lady fair astray.” Zevran said lightly, though there was a touch of wistfulness in his voice.

Blinking once, it swiftly dawned on Butters that, in effect, she was a kept woman. Cheeks burning crimson, she scooted to the edge of the bed took to rearranging any ruffles in her simple green shift. Clearing her throat conspicuously, she drew her knees up to her chest and averted her gaze, a sudden headache settling in.

“So let's recap.” she said matter-of-factly; “I just made a bold declaration of love even though I'm clearly romancing another man who's currently residing a stones throw from this door. Whatever am I going to do?!”

“You could always dump him.” Zevran replied casually, shrugging his shoulders. “Though I doubt he'd take the news very well. He seems a most sensitive chap. In many, many ways.”

“Uh! And how would  **you**  know?!” she reached to poke him in the ribs, mindful of the bandages swathing his frame.

A grainy chuckle escaped the elf as he caught her finger, lifting it to place a soft kiss on the tip. “May I remind you, I grew up in a whorehouse. I learned from a frighteningly young age how to tell when a woman is sparing the feelings of a lacklustre lover.”

Butters' blush intensified. “H-he is  **not** lack-lustre! He's...uh... a little inexperienced, yes but he's eager to please!”

The elf let out a snort of laughter, resting his hands upon his stomach as he glanced up at the ceiling in amused contemplation. “If it's experience Alistair lacks, send him my way! I would be more than willing to teach him a trick or two if it means hearing those delicious shrieks of yours once again.”

“Sweet Maker, I'd think you were pressing your ear to the wall every time I dragged him to my chambers! Never pegged you for a voyeur, Zev.”

“Surely you must know by now that I have amassed a great deal of kinks and fetishes over the years! Besides, I need not listen in wilfully, my sweet. These ears of mine do more than simply frame my face!”

She pouted, moving to lightly tug one of the tell-tale tapered ears that poked from his dishevelled mop of silvery hair, chuckling as he let out a squeal at her touch. Butters smirked then, pleased to have remembered one of his many sensitive spots. Shaking her head in amusement, she dipped to place a chaste kiss on the pointed tip, her breath balmy on his skin.

Zevran purred unconsciously, a furrow appearing in his brow. “Careful, now.” he teased, eyes twinkling with mischief. Before she could reply with a snappy retort, Butters jumped at the sound of the door creaking open. Lantern light flooded the room, making her wince against the sudden onslaught of brightness after spending so long in the semi-darkness.

“Oh, you're awake!” Alistair's voice sounded tired but relieved. A knot in Butter's stomach tightened and she felt a wave of guilt overcome her. Just moments ago, she was kissing Zevran with twice as much passion as she indulged the young ex-templar. He must have seen the grimace on her face for he strode over to the edge of the bed and gave her a reassuring pet.

“Hey, now! She may not be the most _friendly_ healer in the world but Morrigan's skills are not to be sniffed at!” Glancing over her shoulder, Alistair cast the elf a somewhat sheepish smile, still wary of the closeness between the two. “Not dead yet, I see.”

“You sound disappointed, Alistair!” Zevran said cheerfully, cocking a brow; “Annoyed you didn't' strike the deciding blow yourself, hmm? No matter. I would be willing to take you up on that offer of a duel you mentioned once my strength returns.”

“Duel? What duel?” Butters jumped up in alarm, eyes widening. Laughing airily, Alistair steadied her with both hands on her shoulders, shaking his head.

“Oh, nothing. Just trying to decide if we should draw straws before dawn and fight for your dainty little hand!” he said with overt sarcasm, cackling as he watched her mouth gape open. “I wasn't going to try anything! That is...” he smiled awkwardly, rubbing his hands along her forearms; “...Unless you want me to..?”

“No. No fighting. You boys play nice or I'll take your treats away.” Butters stated in what she hoped was an authoritative tone but it only served to elicit more laughter from the blonde warrior.

“Alright! I'll be good...for  **now** .” he grinned wickedly at her, curling his arms around her waist as she stood up, ensnaring her in what Zevran took to being a clearly possessive gesture. He wrinkled his nose at the sight but bit back the barbed insult on his tongue, mindful of Butter's olive gaze upon him, quietly urging him not to give the game away.

Coughing roughly, the raven haired rogue gave Zevran a friendly pat on the knee before turning towards Alistair, trying to keep her expression light and neutral. Feeling somewhat traitorous as she curled her arms around him, she forced herself to smile and glanced over her shoulder, fixing her gaze on the carvings of the bedposts in a bid to avoid the elf's gaze.

“Come, Alistair. Zevran needs his sleep.”

“So do you, by the looks of it.” Alistair said gently, giving the rogue a squeeze around the waist. “You're exhausted.”

“I'm fine. Really. Go on, keep the bed warm. I'll be along in a moment.”

Alistair furrowed his brow but did not protest. Nodding once, he placed a sweet kiss on her lips before heading out to the guest room across the hall, soon disappearing inside. Exhaling sharply, Butters felt her knees shake with nerves.

“That was awkward...” she groaned, rubbing her temples.

“Don't keep him waiting.” Zevran's voice was oddly hollow, a thinly-veiled note of jealousy present as he turned from her gaze. Swallowing hard, Butters made a move to comfort him but thought better of it. Bowing her head, she backed out of the room, lingering at the door-frame just a moment.

“All in good time, Zev. You won't have long to wait.”

The door fell shut with a low click.

Trekking into the room she'd taken to sharing with Alistair, Butters felt utterly despicable, disgusted with herself. Not trusting herself to speak, she pulled back the covers of the bed and shimmied out of her clothing before laying down beside the blonde ex-templar. As his arms curled around her waist, pulling her close to him, her skin crawled with his touch.

Still, she persevered and tried to shut out the taste of the elf as the blonde kissed her gently. Wrapping her arms around his neck, her sob was lost in his mouth as he took to covering her lips with his. Oblivious to the turmoil within the raven haired woman, Alistair caressed her sweetly with light, fluttering touches.

His hands brushed against the swell of her bosom and she let out a soft cry. Encouraged, Alistair pulled away and dipped his head to blaze a trail of kisses over her collar, down her chest to her left breast. Her hands found his shoulders and she grabbed them hard, fingernails biting into the taunt flesh.

The blonde hissed a breath through his teeth, feeling pain sting at him but he did not pull away. Instead, he continued in blissful ignorance, kissing and stroking until he reached her bare navel. His fingers traced over her hips, over the curve of her thighs and down to her knees, his tongue reaching to lick her belly button in a way that would normally make her squeal.

Instead, Butters felt her stomach lurch uncomfortably. “St-stop. Don't...”she whimpered. He looked up at her, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Don't stop? Alright-”

“N-no. Not tonight, Alistair. Please.” Butters tried to keep her voice from shaking but it was a hard thing to do when every fibre of her core was screaming to shove him away, to bolt from the bed and find comfort in the arms of the elf. Breathing unsteadily, she turned away from him and rolled on her side, curling into a foetal position as she silently willed herself not to give into the sobs that threatened to consume her.

Frowning, Alistair moved to place a hand on her shoulder. “Butters... are you alright?”

  
“I-It's nothing. Nothing, Alistair.”

 

“Butters...”

“Can we just sleep for a bit? Please? I'm _exhausted.”_ She sighed, rubbing her temples as she cast him a half-hearted smile over her shoulder.

“He's not going to die, Butters.” Alistair said in a reassuring tone; “Morrigan got to him in time and Leliana's almost finished working on a salve to help with the blood loss. He's in good hands.”

“I-I'm sorry..I just...I just-!” Butters whimpered, her arms curling around his waist as she cried into his chest, intense, shuddering sobs rumbling her shoulders. Alistair sighed and stroked her hair soothingly. It felt a good deal thinner than usual and for a brief moment, he worried if she too might suffer the same fate as her follicly-challenged brother.

“Shh. It'll be alright.” he whispered gently, moving to trail his hands over her back. She felt feverish, sweat soaking her skin. “You need to be strong for him.” Alistair swallowed awkwardly; “You'll be no use if you work yourself into a tizzy.”

“Alistair, I'm sorry.” Butters whispered, lifting her head to look at him as she brushed the tears from her eyes; “I'm being so unfair to you-getting so frantic over another man like this-”

  
“Hey.” Alistair cupped her chin, his gaze fierce but calm; “He means a lot to you, I know that now. It...bothered me before but...well, we all have pasts, I suppose. I'd be a hypocrite if I were to judge you for it.”

“Alistair..”

“Ssshh. Don't cry. Bloodshot eyes don't suit you!” he tried to chuckle but could only manage a weak titter. Sniffling, Butters pulled the sheets over herself and curled up beside him, feeling weak and tired as fatigue washed over her. Within minutes, she was halfway to the Fade, strength deserting her in droves as she slumped against her pillow.

Alistair watched her sleep for a little while, a deep wrinkle in his brow as he took in the sight of her twitching form, murmuring incoherent words and the occasional low sigh. Once or twice, he heard her utter Zevran's name. His stomach tightened and he suddenly found the room to be stiflingly warm. Getting up, he tugged on his britches and pushed open the door only to jump back in alarm when he found himself face to face with Leliana.

“Oh! Lee! What're you doing up so early?” he tried to keep his voice steady, absently scratching his chin.

“Just checking on your fair maiden. She hasn't eaten in three full days. I'm worried- t'is not like her to skip a meal.” the bard said darkly as she glanced into the room. Butters shifted in her sleep, rolling onto her back but did not wake up.

“Can you blame her? She's been beside herself over the elf. To be honest, I'm a little jealous of all the attention he's getting from her...” Alistair muttered, stepping into the hall and closing the door behind him. Folding his arms over his chest, he sighed and leaned against the door, eyes closing for a moment. “I-I'm trying to be sympathetic, Lee. I am but it's hard. I've seen how she looks at him...how  **he**  looks at  **her** . How can I compete with that?”

“Alistair, she needs you. Now more than ever.” Leliana's voice held a strange weight, as though she was holding back from divulging a dirty little secret-not at all far from the truth. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, the bard gave him a reassuring squeeze and smiled.

“She's going through a really confusing time, sweetie. All I can tell you is to let her get through it at her own pace. Let her come to you. You'll only end up smothering her if you force her hand. Give it time.”

“Lee, is...is there something going on? If you know anything-” Alistair queried, only to be cut short by the sound of a door opening down the hall.

Stepping out of the nearby bedroom, Malcolm rested his hands on his bare hips, scowling deeply at them both.

“Is that knife-eared bastard dead yet?” he grunted roughly, reaching to scratch the five o' clock shadow on his chin as he strode towards them. Leliana pursed her lips, smacking him hard on the bicep.

“That's not very nice! Zevran is a kind, affable man who-”

“-Who tried to kill us not so long ago, or have you forgotten. If he snuffs it, it's no skin off my back. Why Butters insists on pandering to him, I've no idea.”

Eager to get off the subject should the threat of a migraine present itself, Alistair cleared his throat.  “What's the plan for today, chief?”

Malcolm arched an eyebrow. 

“Shouldn't you be fucking my sister? Weird seeing you out of bed at this hour.”

The ex-templar made a slight choking noise in his mouth, face blazing scarlet.

“I-! Sh-Shut up!”

“Are we any closer to getting to the armoury today, Malcolm?” Leliana queried, rolling her eyes at his blunt attitude. She had often wondered if Butters was adopted, so gruff and tactless was her elder sibling. Malcolm rubbed his nose and cricked his neck, glancing thoughtfully at the ceiling.

“Hard to say, Leliana. There's still a shit-ton of rubble to sift but I managed to find a large enough gap to slip through. I spoke with Morrigan and she tells me she might be able to blast away the debris with a few controlled bursts. It's risky, though. Most of that debris acted as a load bearer...”

“Then we best act fast.” Alistair recovered long enough to cough, frowning at the tactless man before him.

“Aye. But first we feed. Rory managed to find a wheel of Gouda in one of the intact pantries-”

“Cheese!”

“For Maker's sake, Alistair-!”

“Sorry. Force of addiction. Can I have mine on toast?”

“Urgh...!”

* * *

 

 

The sun was already quite high in the sky when Zevran awakened. For a few seconds, he blinked in confusion as the last dregs of sleep still clouded his mind. As realization dawned on him, he grunted as he sat up slowly. The pain had subsided to a manageable level but he was still weak and, going on the obscene noises made by his churning stomach, ravenously hungry too.

Crawling to the edge of the bed, he swung his legs over and slowly rose to his feet. His stitches strained against his movements but did nothing other than catch him out with a sharp tug, making him hiss a breath through his teeth. With great difficulty, he managed to wiggle his way into a pair of light linen trousers, hitching them tight to his waist so he would not have to repeat the painful manoeuvre.

The hallway was deserted but far from quiet. Garbled voices filtered down from the study, sounds of subdued conversation providing the soundtrack for the day. Feeling tangled knots of silver stick awkwardly to his forehead, Zevran groaned in annoyance and raked a hand through his hair.

_ Bathroom... bathroom...  _ he mused, shuffling gingerly down the hallway, opening doors as he went. After coming across two bedrooms, a storage cupboard and a room completely devoid of any identifying furniture, he struck gold with the last door on the right, opening onto a large room tiled in white with its' own pump-action reservoir mounted to the ceiling.

Just as he was about to step under the tap and pull the lever to douse himself in icy water, a blur shot past him towards the toilet, catching him off-balance.

Zevran heard the retch before he saw it. Brows furrowed in concern, he rushed to Butter's side, kneeling at the side of the toilet.

With a hand against her back, he braced her as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the bowl. It seemed to go on for an age- just when he thought it might end, she would wince and gag and the nausea would start all over again. A crinkle appeared over the elf's nose as he tried not to inhale the stench of vomit.

“Easy...” When her stomach fell silent for an age, he eased her back with both hands to her waist, closing the lid and setting her down on top.

Hunched forward, her strength sapped and her head resting in her hands, Butters shook as the horrid sensation in the pit of her stomach slowly subsided, the taste of bile fading until all that was left was that accursed taste of pennies that had plagued to no end. Curling her arms around herself, she hunched forward and let a long, low groan escape her.

“How long?” Zevran's voice was soft, little more than a whisper.

“What..?” she mumbled, lifting her head an inch to look at him.

_“...You're pregnant.”_ he said flatly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaannnd...that's all I have written on this fic to date. Sorry 'bout the cliffhanger but the current end of this fic coincided with the start of some really intense mental health issues that still plague me today. I wrote this story eight years ago and I was much more enmeshed in the Dragon Age fandom back then.  
> These days, I don't play it anymore but maybe some day if I can get a copy of Inquistion handy I might return to the fandom.  
> Suffice to say, there will be no more chapters added to the story of Butters and Malcolm and I apologize for that.
> 
> Still, I hope you enjoyed reading what I wrote so far.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, feel free to check out my other works in the Dragon Age fandom or my ongoing Supernatural series "The Adventures of Evie Keogh". Thanks for reading!
> 
> -Chubbs


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